


The Nutcracker & The Rat King

by fem_castielnovak



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas, Fairy Tale Elements, Gen, M/M, Nutcracker AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-27
Updated: 2015-11-27
Packaged: 2018-05-03 15:48:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 25,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5297105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fem_castielnovak/pseuds/fem_castielnovak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>.<br/>{ TFW Nutcracker AU with Destiel }<br/>.</p><p>When sixteen year-old Dean receives a nutcracker from his godfather the week before Christmas, neither he nor his brother Sam are prepared for it to drag them into an adventure with toys that come to life, demons laying siege to their home, travel, enchantment, bribery, battles, and chasing after magical creatures. <br/>Based on the original story of “The Nutcracker and The Mouse King” and inspired by its many interpretations.</p><p>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Party

**Author's Note:**

> All of the beatiful, fantastic art was done by [labluekatt1721](http://labluekatt1721.livejournal.com/) and can be found [here](http://labluekatt1721.livejournal.com/7193.html).  
> The fic post on tumblr can be found [here](http://fem-deanwinchester.tumblr.com/).
> 
> My beta was Lena who can be found at [mishacollinsisatreasure.tumblr.com](http://mishacollinsisatreasure.tumblr.com)  
> Thank you so much, you sweet, angelic Velociraptor 
> 
> Both beta and artist contributed marvelous things to the story and creative process. It would not have been as much fun to write, or as wonderful as it ended up being without their input.

 

..

 ...

 

A party is a most excellent thing for children at Christmastime.

The whole day before, the house smells of delicious food being prepared and when the need arises for quality assurance, quick tastes can be stolen without reprimand.  Guests arrive bearing gifts in shiny packaging, music fills the house, and sweets decorate little tables in every room. Or at least this is how it happens to be in the Winchester household.

Dean, like he does every year, sits at the table licking the bowl and spoon Mary had been using to make the cherry pie-filling. He may have turned sixteen this year but age was no reason to change delicious traditions. He looks over at his twelve-year old brother, Sam, and watches as the younger boy meticulously ices sugar cookies. The seat on the other side of Sam is empty from where Adam – the youngest at six – has abandoned decorating the ugly cookies Sammy was allowing him to work on.

Dean finishes licking his fingers and washing the bowl just as the front doorbell rings.

“I’ll get it!” he yells, running through the kitchen doors and down the hall as his mother calls after him, “Dean slow down and don’t yell! I was right next to you!” He ignores her request – it’s not like she can see him – and he flings open the door to the earliest guests.

Uncle Bobby, Aunt Ellen, and Jo have come by hours before the party to help get everything ready. The Winchester party is the event of the Christmas season for family, friends, and neighbors, and it is getting bigger every year – the help is appreciated. Besides, the Winchester home is plenty large enough to house extra guests – _family_ – over the holiday.

Bobby and John are old friends, and Ellen knew both of Dean’s parents before the two even started dating. Now, John is owner and head mechanic of his own automotive repair service that works in conjunction with Uncle Bobby’s scrap yard. And though they don’t need the extra money, Mary is sole proprietor of her own bakery with two successful locations.

The Singer-Harvelle’s live just outside of town, but it was more convenient – not to mention more fun – for them to stay over. It allowed for maximum preparation and cleanup. And it had become tradition for them to stay the rest of the week until the day after Christmas. They were family and everything felt more festive and Christmassy when all of them were together to celebrate. The adults undeniably enjoyed the sleepover as much as the kids, but they really began the tradition when Jo had wanted to spend more time with her friends. At 14 she spans the age gap between the boys evenly. And now , after so many years together, when she jumps onto Dean in a koala-bear hug, he just takes her annoying, sisterly affection in stride by complaining as he piggy-backs her into the kitchen.

Greetings are exchanged and Sam, Dean, and Jo head back out front to collect the luggage while the adults clean and cook.  John arrives home not too long after that and once he’s ready for the party, he and the kids help put up decorations and sweep with Bobby while Mary and Ellen finish the cooking. They all sit down for a quick meal once the brunt of the work is done.  Bobby and John set out the last chairs as everyone gets dressed. Dean has to help Adam but he doesn’t mind too much. But by the time he’s finished and goes to find Sam and Jo, they’re mid-way through a speed round of some first player shooter game. Sam wins and Jo calls for best three of five so Dean is stuck fidgeting in his beanbag chair for a good half hour. But by the time they’re done the two competitors are sick of this battle scene and beg Dean to let them move on to another, more mellow game. As they wait for it to start up, Jo kicks Dean’s leg and asks, “So who all’s coming to the party?”

“Same as always, dumbass.”

“I mean new people _dumbass_.”

Dean kicks her back but Sam answers, “Yeah. Dad invited the new guy from the shop, and there’ll be some new neighbors from the other side of the fence …”

“…And?”

“And my girlfriend.”

“Sammy!” Jo playfully punches him in the arm, “Why didn’t you tell me! How long have you been going out for?”

“Ow! ‘Cause I knew you’d react like that!” He rubs his arm but mumbles, “Since school started.”

 Jo gave a low whistle, “That’s serious business for middle school. Are you going to exchange gifts like an old married couple?” she cooed. Sam blushed a little glancing at the controller in his lap, and Jo sat up, exclaiming, “You are! Oh my gosh, that’s adorable!”

“Alright, you two have had your little gossip session, now can we play the game please?”

“Yeah, yeah. But Sam you have to introduce her to me.”

“Sure, Jo. It’ll be nice to have _someone else_ in the house besides me being nice to her.”

“Oh come on, Sammy can I –”

“Don’t ‘Sammy’ me –!”

“– Can I help it if she hates me? Why would I be nice to her if she hates me?”

“Because she’s my girlfriend!”

“Yeah, and she always kicks me under the table and she threatened to key Baby!”

“It was a harmless threat!”

“Dean you have been way too obsessed with that car since Uncle John gave it to you.”

“You should have seen him on the actual morning of his birthday. Sixteen years of unresolved sexual tension between him and the car and he was slobbering all over it when dad handed him the keys for his own.”

“Shut up! Can we just play the game already?”

They play until John calls them downstairs to bring more luggage up. Bobby and John are dragging some huge white boxes into the sitting room to put in front of the tree.

“Is Uncle Chuck here?” Sam exclaims when he sees the packages. Mary ruffles his hair, “No, he’s just sent his bags and presents ahead. He’s arriving from the airport after the party’s already started.”

Their godfather, or Uncle Chuck as he was affectionately called, always brought the best presents. He never failed to be awkward and a bit bumbling with the adults at the party but all the kids who came adored him.

“What – do you think – he made – this year?” Sam huffs out as he trudges up the stairs with a bag under each arm.

“Who knows? But it’s bound to be great!” Dean grins, trotting easily ahead of the other two.

“Does he really make every gift he gives you guys?” Jo has known the man almost as long as Sam but he was far closer to the Winchesters and happened to be godfather to all three of the boys. She continues, “That train he gave you last year was incredible!”

Incredible is putting it mildly. The train was totally baffling. Chuck claimed it was self-powered but what exactly did that mean? Sam thought it was solar charged but when he asked their Uncle if he was right, the man had just smiled and simply avoided telling them anything at all about it. And when Chuck wanted to keep something a secret he was smooth and composed with everyone– despite his normal lack of tact in social situations. Knowing this, Sammy continued to make outlandish guesses to no avail on how it was able to run and by then, Adam had grown so attached to it that the he wouldn’t let his older brothers take it apart to see if they could figure out how it worked.

Adam calls down to them from the top step, “Uncle Chuck’s presents are legendary! I can’t wait ‘till he gets here!” obviously quoting something he’s heard Dean say at some point.

 

At the adults insistence, they sit downstairs and wait for the first guests to arrive. They aren’t supposed to snack before everyone else gets there, so all they can do is listen to the softly playing Christmas music and watch the crackling fire while speculating about the presents they’ll receive. No matter what they think up though, they know that Chuck will exceed their expectations.  Even though Chuck would be there for the actual day of Christmas, he always gave them their presents on the night of the party because it was like putting on a show for the friends and family members to watch the children open them. And if the adults “studied the mechanics” by playing with the presents, then that was really what it was all about.

His fingerprints are on so many aspects of the Winchesters’ lives and memories. The year Mary was pregnant with Sammy, when Dean had been going through his cowboy phase (something he’d never truly gotten over), Dean had received a toy cowboy riding a horse. Chuck promised it wasn’t a robot but Dean couldn’t figure out how else it would be able to respond to the voice command, “Giddyap” and begin moving on its own. Last year he’d carved Sam the most intricate and perfect imitation of a golden retriever – the kid was obsessed with dogs.  That was the year he’d also given Adam a full battalion of soldiers which the boy used on a daily basis though the delicate features and details of the uniforms never seemed to chip or wear out.

The man is a clockmaker by trade and when Adam was born, he made each of them their own musical clock.  Adam’s played Hey Jude, per request of Mary who’d wanted something to get her child to go to sleep when she couldn’t be there to tuck him in – she’d somehow foreseen the oncoming success of her rapidly growing business.  Sam’s played Heat of the Moment which he’d quickly gotten tired of after Adam had messed with the alarm and the song _would not stop playing_ all day one awful, memorable Tuesday. Chuck had promised to replace it at some point but hadn’t gotten around to it yet. Dean’s alternated and he was still trying to puzzle out whether or not there was actually a pattern to the alternation because some mornings were an “I’ve got to have Ramble On to really be awake” while others were “Traveling Riverside Blues is what I need to start my day” and every day the exact one he wanted to hear woke him up. Chuck had even made the star that had been on the top of their Christmas tree for Dean’s entire life, as well as John’s treasured grandfather clock, which had been a wedding present to him and Mary.

This is what Dean thinks about – his eyes flicking between the two objects on opposite sides of the sitting room – as he waits for guests to interrupt the hushed chatter of the others.

His saving grace comes in the form of one Cassie Robinson - a girl from down the street, accompanied by her parents who moved in a few years ago. She only shortly precedes Lisa Braeden, who also closely followed Cassie’s family in moving into the neighborhood.  Dean fetches each of them a drink and strikes up a conversation. They are his most viable prospects as far as romantic activities go this evening, and Dean is hoping to get at least one kiss under the mistletoe. Jo voluntarily acts as his wingman, chatting avidly with one to keep her entertained while Dean flirts with the other. Sammy continues to let guests in until John shoves him off to go mingle and takes his son’s place. Mary, Ellen, and even Bobby take care of warm and genuine conversation with the flood of visitors. Adam has just recently learned that adults find him adorable and is milking it for all it is worth. At some point, the infamous Ruby makes her appearance but Dean has continuously been flirting with anyone and everyone in an acceptable age range, so he barely notices.

With such a large range of guests, the evening is what you’d expect from a Christmas party – adults get tipsy, children get rowdy, everyone sings a festive song or two – with, of course, the addition of Mary’s delectable cooking. Quite a few people – including Dean – steal their fair share of  mistletoe-kisses.

Around 10pm guests start to file out after hours of socializing and thoroughly enjoying themselves, leaving the “family-doesn’t-end-with-blood” guests. The kids have been waiting all night for this part of the evening; where they can relax and just get a boatload of presents. Only Ruby stays past the others, because Sam’s begged to let her stay late this year.  The kid has killer, puppy dog eyes.

As the remaining adults settle around the room with mugs of eggnog, the children sit impatiently sipping hot cocoa. Uncle Chuck still hasn’t shown but there are plenty of other presents to be opened. Aunt Ellen and Uncle Bobby are saving theirs for Christmas morning but Uncle Rufus suggests that they each take the bright red box with their name on it and have at it. Jody Mills, Missouri, and Mr. Creaser, to name a few, follow suit.

The adults get progressively more buzzed and reach a point where they’re almost as excited as the kids, egging them on to unwrap faster and giggling at their delighted reactions to the presents. Jo gets knives, how-to books, and a t-shirt for her favorite band. Adam gets some plastic trains and dinosaurs, a few cartoon educational DVDs, and some children’s books which he immediately demands that Ruby read to him. Dean gets a subscription to a car magazine, and some gift cards, which is exactly what he wanted (money, in his opinion, is freedom). Sam gets piles and piles of books and new sheet music for his guitar. All of the kids are given a boatload of candy. At least it seems like it until Adam finishes his in under an hour.  
They quietly agree that they’ve _totally_ scored as Ellen helps John herd everybody towards the kitchen for more food. Ruby doesn’t seem to mind having been mostly left out as she holds the hands of both Sam and a fidgety Adam. As the last of the adults crosses the threshold to the kitchen, a knock sounds at the door. The straggling group freezes in their tracks, heads snapping towards the sound. Sam and Dean bolt towards the noise, shoving each other and scrambling to yank the door open and reveal the smiling face of their ineffable Uncle Chuck. They both yell hellos and squeeze him into a rib-cracking little group hug. He laughs and they drag him inside, calling to their parents. Mary and John emerge from the kitchen to exchange hugs. Bobby claps him on the back as they lead the whole parade of guests back into the sitting room with their replenished refreshments. The children don’t even think about the presents, merely focused on bombarding the man with questions:

“What _took_ you so long?” – Dean

“Did you bring any projects to work on?” – Sam

“Did you fly the whole way?” – Jo

“Can I help you work on them?” – Sam

“How tall are you?” – Adam

“How far did you have to drive?” – Jo, again

“You’re room’s all set up already, by the way. But what the heck is making your bags so heavy?” – Dean

“Can you fly your own plane?” – Adam

Chuck scoops up Adam and replies effortlessly, “In reverse order, No; Things; Not very far; taller than you; yes; mostly; yes; and TSA bites,” pointing at each person as he responds to them. He boops Adam on the nose and glances over all of them, saying, “Now, don’t you all want to open your presents? Or did I waste all –“

“Yes!” They scream in semi-unison.

“Do it together!” he calls out as they scratch and tear at the wrapping on the largest box. The walls of the box fall away of their own accord to reveal a gorgeous clockwork castle with mechanical people already moving about their little motorized lives. Adam’s eyes go as wide as saucers and the others form little O’s with their mouths while the adults draw in startled gasps. Guests huddle about it to admire the handiwork but Chuck pulls the children away to finish unwrapping his other presents. There are a few specifically addressed to the Winchester boys and some miscellaneous boxes that the clockmaker has gotten into the habit of bringing because of the likelihood that Mary will have taken yet another neighborhood child under her wing by the time Christmas rolls around each year.

The items from these miscellaneous packages end up strewn across the room with no one in particular to belong to – each being more of a communal token than anything. But the boys are delighted with the ones specifically for them. Adam is enthralled to find in his box a full cavalry, led by a colonel that raises his sword-arm when the command “Charge!” is called out. Dean receives a miniature version of the impala, pristine and intimately detailed – including what Chuck said were proportional versions of the lego and army man the boys had shoved in the air-conditioning and ashtray, years ago. They could even be heard rattling when the small car was tilted or shaken. Sam has a long but shallow box containing an entire armada of historically accurate 15th century Spanish ships. When you peek into the portholes and upper-deck windows, little carved figurines are visible inside – more intricate than a ship constructed in a bottle. Chuck knows that Sam appreciates craftsmanship and detail, and that he has a thing for world exploration. As Adam sets up his soldiers – old and new – Jo considerately calls Ruby over to help her open one of the miscellaneous boxes. The trinkets and toys inside the boxes spread gradually across the floor along with their wrappings. One of the last things the boxes produce is a wind-up, self-steering wooden airplane.

It is as Sam helps Jo launch the plane that Dean notices the oddly shaped object abandoned beneath the tree. He stoops to pick it up - a winged soldier. Telling himself that he’s looking for a gift tag, he enviously – enviously? – admires what turns out to be a nutcracker. Dean hasn’t been exposed to many of them in his lifetime. He’s maybe seen them on Christmas cards or store shelves. This one looks weird though. Sure, it’s got the typical large teeth and the mustache-goatee combo (which is really more of a light scruff) but from its back sprouts jet-black feathers. And where a halo could be, dark hair peeks out from beneath a soldier’s helmet. In his hand is clutched a strange, silver-painted blade. Dean runs his finger along its wooden edge. The eyes are wide and bright and so very blue. He moves his hand across the back. His fingers trace the soft, miniscule feathers and – wait why does a nutcracker have wings? Why is this nutcracker here at his house? Even from his awkward godfather, it would be an unusual gift, though Dean feels it would be reasonable to suppose Chuck had brought it. Presumably it came in one of the miscellaneous boxes. If Chuck were its maker, then that is also likely the reason it looks so different with its tan and white uniform and friggin ginormous, fluffy appendages. The weird little soldier even has a dark blue sash that perfectly complements his eyes. Wait, weren’t they sky blue a minute ago? No, definitely dark blue now. It must be a change in the firelight.

Sam calls him back, “Come on dude! You’ve gotta come see this!”

“This is even better than the train was!” Adam screams as the plane lands gently in his outstretched hands.

Hours pass in amusement. The nutcracker remains clutched in Dean’s hand. Eventually, Dean sneaks off to the kitchen. Sam sees him return to sit on the floor near the tree with a bowl of still-shelled nuts. And as a dutiful little brother of course he goes over to nosily determine what’s going on. Dean’s already cracked several by the time Sam decides to join him and so he offers the toy to the younger boy, “Want a go at it?” Sam grins and after a few tries, he gets the hang of it. Ruby is the first one to notice her boyfriend’s absence and she and Jo soon make their way over with Adam close behind. Dean reluctantly passes the toy around and gives everyone a turn with it (though Adam requires help to do it). They laugh and chat, trading the useful soldier back and forth and intermittently snacking on the fruits of their labors.

 

...

  
Guests trickle out, smiles plastered on their faces from booze, and thank-yous dripping from their lips. The last one departs sometime after 11 pm except for Ruby, who, to Dean’s chagrin, is staying until nearly 11:30. Mary and John are curled up on a sofa, still talking with Bobby, Ellen, and Chuck.  Mary looks up at the clock and gives a low whistle, “It’s time to tidy up soon. All the toys away, boys. Even your little angel, Dean.” Dean thinks he’s been able to discreetly carry it around all evening, but apparently not.

“He’s not, uh, he’s not my- he’s a soldier,” he clears his throat, “Who does he actually belong to?”

 “I believe,” John picks his head up from Mary’s shoulder, “he is to be shared with everyone. But you seem to have a profound fondness for him, so maybe you can be his caretaker.” Before Dean gets the chance to even blush, Chuck interjects, “That’s not a half bad idea. He’s very … unique. I’d appreciate having someone responsible looking out for him.” He gives Dean a wink.

“I’m very glad we’ve worked this out, but I haven’t seen anyone move to put anything away.” Mary gives her youngest sons a pointed look.

“Come on, Adam,” Sammy helps the little boy stand, “I’ll help you put your soldiers in the cabinet.”

“Just one more nut!” Ruby pleads. Dean narrows his eyes at her. Why is she still using him? She didn’t even eat any of the nuts she cracked. Hearing no verbal objections, Ruby shoves her hand in the bowl and fishes around. She withdraws it, tightly grasping one clearly too large and by Dean’s guess, too hard for the toy to handle. Common sense is not playing a role in Ruby’s decision which seems more like an experiment at testing the soldier’s limits and before Dean can try to stop her, she’s jammed it between the painted teeth and slammed her hand down on the lever. A sickening crack pierces the room. Ruby lets him fall to her lap, his wooden jaw hanging slack, nut rolling out and bouncing to the floor. Dean snatches him up, holding him carefully – almost cradling him – in his hands. He sends her a nasty look but then Sam’s walking into the room to tell her that her parents are waiting for her out front in their car. She scrambles out of the room and Sam walks her to the door. Probably to get a goodnight kiss, Dean thinks resentfully. She doesn’t deserve one after doing this. He moves to a chair in the corner of the room and looks at the damage she’s done. Less than five minutes as his caretaker and he’s already let the angel be ruined, he bitterly reprimands himself.  He takes off one of his leather bracelets to use as a sling to hold the jaw in place. Semi-satisfied with what he’s able to do for the nutcracker this evening, he places him on top of the toy cabinet. In the doorway he tosses a goodnight to the adults as they finish their conversation, and a longing look to the soldier.

Dean gets dressed in his pajamas and brushes his teeth but instead of jumping into bed, he finds himself making his way back downstairs. By now the adults are in their own rooms and going to sleep. He gingerly picks up the nutcracker and walks over to curl up in an armchair. He glances over the injury once more, wishing there was something else he could do.

“Chuck’ll fix ya good as new tomorrow,” he murmurs. And then he swears a smile flickers across the wooden features.  Dean freezes up.

He’s talking to a toy and it responded.

…

No, nope. No it didn’t.

He’s imagining it.

 It’s late and he’s talking to inanimate objects and imagining things.

The grandfather clock begins to chime as if in agreement and Dean looks up but has to do a double take because there in the glass part at the top sits a wriggling human figure, tiny and unmistakable and blocking the chimes from view. Dean places the nutcracker on the table and stands on the sofa cushions to see if he can get an eye-level view but he’s distracted by a motion on the floor.

From a hole in the wall at the foot of the great clock, scores of rats begin scampering out. As if that wasn’t strange enough, in their midst a rat sits atop miniature hounds, wearing an ornate crown.  Before Dean can move to chase them all outside, a banging comes from the opposite direction. The doors of the toy cabinet shudder violently several times before bursting open – pieces of the glass panes shattering onto the floor.

The toys have come _alive_.

Holy shit.

Not only that, but they’re organizing themselves into rows like an army. The dolls and stuffed animals stand in rank with the toy soldiers. They march directly towards the rats as if to attack. And then Dean sees him: the nutcracker is at the head, leading them into battle. With his sword raised in the air, Dean can see that he’s wearing the leather bracelet on his arm. It reminds him of a piece of colored cloth a knight would wear as a symbol of favor in a tournament.

Still convinced he’s dreaming, Dean kneels motionless and stunned as he watches the events unfold. The toys are strong, with decent numbers. Their fighting tactics are less erratic than the rats as well. They two armies are ferocious and Dean couldn’t tear his eyes away from it even for a slice of pie. Soon, though, the rats with their vicious tactics begin to overwhelm the toys. The toys break ranks and chaos ensues. Dean is now concerned only for the nutcracker whom he hasn’t seen in some time. He finds him in the thick of it, and with his back turned to the Rat King who is about to have the unsuspecting nutcracker taken prisoner. Dean suddenly has the compulsion to help. He looks around for a weapon. All Dean can think to do is yank off his slipper and fling it at the Rat King. It barely grazes him, only knocking the crown from his head. All other motion comes to a stop as members of both armies turn to stare at the giant in their midst. But the nutcracker is an obvious strategist – taking the opportunity to break away and issue command for retreat as he ducks beneath a corner of the couch.

 Outraged, the Rat King turns his attack to Dean. The rat soldiers charge at the couch as the nutcracker scales its side but the Rat King stands his ground.

To Dean’s bewilderment, he begins chanting words Dean can’t understand. To his further shock, the miniscule dogs barking madly at the foot of the sofa begin to increase in size so that soon they are as large as an average puppy might be. But, they are still very vicious, fully-grown, hellish-looking dogs. They leap, snapping at Dean’s ankles, trying to reach where he stands on the couch. Startled, he backs away and hurdles over the back of the sofa, racing towards the large doors of the room’s only exit. He turns to steal a glance at the beasts but he trips against the door of the toy cabinet, falling into shattered glass. He’s bleeding, he realizes as he tries to stand up but failing to as a hellhound grabs onto his ankle. Then, on the arm of the couch, Dean sees the nutcracker standing with panic in his blue eyes. Dean blinks and suddenly the nutcracker is launching himself into the air and flying rapidly over to where Dean lays writhing on the floor. Startled, the dogs back off but they begin to circle him as soon as the angel lands.  He’s inserted himself between the boy and the dogs and backs towards Dean while keeping his eyes trained on the hellhounds.

“Are you alright?” The toy whispers, stretching his wooden hand back to touch Dean’s exposed upper arm where his robe has slipped off his shoulder.

“What?” Dean’s a little breathless and very confused and obviously still bleeding. But it would seem the nutcracker wasn’t waiting for an answer anyways. The nutcracker still faces the hellhounds but begins chanting. The words are similar to what the Rat King was spewing but somehow these are soothing and Dean doesn’t feel threatened. He feels a slight burning sensation at the point of contact and then the dogs yelp and jump back further from Dean. Dean turns when he hears the Rat King cursing (in English) but before the rodent can get closer or start cursing words that will actually do harm, Dean reaches down to pull off his other slipper and pelt him with it. His aim is better and this time the rat falls unconscious to the floor. Rats across the room squeal and begin calling for retreat. They rush to carry their king, returning to the hole they emerged from with the now-shrinking hellhounds following suit.

 

The toy army has moved underneath the Christmas tree for now and the nutcracker turns to face Dean.

“Are you alright?” He asks once more.

“Just peachy.” He winces as he shifts and more glass digs into his legs. The painted brow furrows and Dean rolls his eyes, “I’ll be fine, I think. Who are you? And what the hell did you do to me?” He moves his right hand up to the mark on his left shoulder – a brand in the shape of a perfect, tiny handprint.

“I am Castiel and I spoke a protection spell over you. It will prevent the demons and the hellhounds from coming close enough to do you harm. The burn was a necessary side effect. But I’m afraid I used a large amount of my power to give it to you so now I am unable to heal your wounds.”

“Heal my wounds?” Dean asks in hazy confusion. He feels dizzy.

“You need rest and I won’t be able to remain present for much longer. It would be best if you would just let yourself drift off.”

Dean only just catches the last words of the suggestion before he blacks out.

 

 


	2. The Story

 

 

“Ahh, sonofabitch,” Dean groans when he wakes up. He blinks his eyes slowly and scrubs a hand over his face. He’s in his bed now with bandages on his cuts and his robe hanging on the back of his door. Not to mention the ghost of an oncoming headache. There is a knock and his mom walks in carrying a plate of pancakes with Sammy close behind carrying a glass of water and some medicine.

“Dean!” Sammy runs over to him nearly spilling the cup in his excitement.

“Good morning, sleepyhead! You gave us quite a scare,” Mary remarks as Sam abandons the drink and medicine on the bedside table to wrap his brother in a hug.

“Yeah, well what happened?” he squints a little. He remembers talking to the nutcracker in perfect clarity which makes him wonder how long he’s really been knocked out for and what caused it.

“Your father woke up in the middle of the night last night saying he’d heard a noise. I went to check on you, your brothers, and Jo while he went downstairs where he found you in a pile of glass in front of the toy cabinet.”

“Oh.”

“Mmhmm. So what brought you downstairs in the middle of the night?” There’s the potential for reprimand in her voice.

“I actually never got to bed. I changed my clothes then headed back down for a snack.” The lie slips delicately off his tongue, building rapidly on itself in his mind as he speaks. Not daring to let her ask questions, he continues, “Before I made it to the kitchen, I saw the tree lights still on in the sitting room and I went to turn them off. I guess I didn’t really think it through because once they were off, the room was pitch-black and I had to pick my way across it. But I must’ve tripped and fallen into the toy cabinet door.” Mary nods in understanding. She squints a bit though and she muses, “I could’ve sworn Chuck turned those lights off on our way out…”

Dean shrugs and throws an arm over Sammy’s shoulder as the boy settles next to him against the headboard. She smiles and holds his face with her hand for a moment, “I’m just glad you’re alright. You’re cuts are pretty terrible. I’ll go get the others. Bobby and Ellen are out shopping but everyone else will want to know you’re okay and visit for a little.” She leaves and Dean turns to Sam who’s staring intently, brows furrowed, at a particularly large bandage on his thigh. Dean ruffles his hair and asks, “What’s the damage, doctor? Can I sue?” Sam gives him bitchface 63 but answers, “A few of your cuts were pretty deep. There was a lot more blood than I thought there would be …” Sammy looks scared so Dean puts his arm back around his shoulders and pulls the younger boy to his side.

“Well, I’m alright now.”

“Mom says you might be stuck in bed for the rest of Christmas break.” Sam pointedly looks away for a moment.

“What!?” Dean sits forward at that.

Sam breaks out laughing, “Your face! Oh, that was priceless!”

“ _Sammy,_ ” Dean says in a warning tone.

Through his laughter Sam admits, “Mom says it’ll be a couple of days before you can get out of bed but you’ll be good to go before Christmas.”

“Bitch!” Dean nearly shoves Sam off the bed but Sam hits him back with his shoulder, “Jerk!”

“Language!” John says as he comes into the room.

“Sorry,” the boys offer in unison. Jo and Adam are close on John’s heels. Their conversation is similar to the one that he had with Mary. They get the same story that she and Sam got. Soon, Adam begs to be taken downstairs so John can make him mac’n’cheese. John relents, telling Dean he’ll be back up soon. But with Adam and food, ‘soon’ is an ambiguously long amount of time.

“Hey Sammy, would you bring me the nutcracker?”

“The nutcracker?”

“I think it’s still in my robe pocket. I wanna check something.”

Jo pipes up, “Chuck came in and got it while you were still asleep. I saw him fixing it downstairs.”

“Oh.” Dean had been hoping to check the toy for signs that last night’s battle wasn’t imaginary. But then he remembers the protection spell. He quickly lifts up the sleeve of his shirt to check for it, and sure enough, there on his arm sits the little mark, red as a cherry. Jo leans forward when she notices it, “Where’d you get that?”

Sam followed suit, “What is it?”

“It’s a side effect.”

“Of what?” Jo asks almost incredulously.

Dean glances up at her then back at the mark, “A protection spell.”

“A _what?_ ”

“Uh, well,” he rubs the back of his neck in uncertainty, debating whether or not to tell them. “Last night when I went downstairs, I went to the living room-”

“Yes, you already –” Jo interrupts.

“It wasn’t actually down there to do what I said before.”

“…Why, then?”

“ I uh,” he hesitates in self-consciousness of the real reason, “I heard a noise. So I go in and this horde of rats comes crawling out of that hole in the wall by the big clock.”

“ _What?”_ Sam asks in disgust.

“Yeah I know! And there’s this one rat that’s the king. As in, he’s giving orders and wearing a tiny crown. It was the freakiest shit. But then it got weirder because the toy cabinet starts shaking and then it breaks open and glass goes everywhere and the toys are charging out.”

“What?!” The other two say in unison.

“Yeah! Like they wake up, come to life, and break the cabinet doors down to go fight all the rats. And for some reason the nutcracker is leading the battle. It was awesome! But then he almost gets killed by the Rat King so I throw my shoe and the king gets distracted so the nutcracker escapes. Then all the rats run towards me and these tiny little mouse-sized dogs – ugly fuckers but I can still tell they’re dogs – they start to get bigger and bigger because the Rat King’s putting a spell on them I think. The dogs start attacking me and they chase me so I’m running to the door but I trip and fall in the broken glass. One of them starts tearing into my ankle but then the nutcracker _flies_ over and scares the shit out of ‘em so they back off. Then he just puts his hand on my arm and says some words in another language and his freakin handprint burns into my shoulder! And then-”

“What do you think you’re doing?” Jo interrupts him.

“Excuse me?” Dean asks, a little indignant at being interrupted.

“How do you expect us to believe this?”

“Okay, so look,” he holds up his uninjured forearms, “I would’ve had chunks of glass in my arms if I’d fallen into the cabinet and nowhere near as many cuts on my legs. I didn’t break it myself because it was already broken!”

“By an army of toys,” she states, obviously unimpressed.

“Yes!” Dean insists.

“Come on, Dean that story isn’t even half good. What made you think I’d fall for something that stupid?”

“Uh-oh,” Mary walks into the room with a first aid kit. “What’s he trying to do now, Jo?” She shifts back the blankets and begins to change his bandages. Dean starts making discrete hand motions and facial expressions so that Jo won’t tell Mary what just went on but she just gives him a dirty glare.

“He tried to get me to believe that the toys came to life last night and fought a battle with a mouse army in the sitting room.”

“Honestly, Dean.” Her tone is mostly chiding but there’s a touch of amusement in her expression. He rolls his eyes and sits back against the headboard in resignation. He’s _not_ pouting.

“I’m gonna go try the crossbow Uncle Chuck made. You wanna come, Sam?” Jo pauses in the doorway. Sam shakes his head, “I’ll stay with Dean a while longer.”  Bandaging finished, Mary ruffles his hair and follows Jo out of the room.

“Will you finish the story?”

He eyes the younger boy’s blank expression suspiciously. “Fine,” Dean sighs. “So he makes the handprint and then the dogs jump back. He told me later that the protection spell will keep them from coming near me but before that happens, I see the Rat King again and this time I throw my other shoe and knock him out. Then all the other rats freaked out and ran to go save him and take him back into the hole in the wall. Once they were all gone he tells me his name – _Cas-tee-el_ – and explains about the protection spell and that the brand was “a necessary side-effect” and – get this - _apologizes_ for not being able to heal my wounds. Then I blacked out.” Dean’s been picking at his bed covers but he looks at his younger brother once he’s finished the story.

“D’you believe me?

“I don’t know.” He pauses, “I want to.” He states it simply.

Dean sighs and looks at his feet sticking out from underneath the covers. They both turn when they hear light footsteps in the hallway. Chuck appears in the open doorway and gives an unnecessary knock.

“Hi boys,” he smiles.

“Hey Uncle Chuck!” They respond.

“I brought back the nutcracker. All fixed up,” he hands him to Dean. “I suppose a week doesn’t make that much of a difference but I almost waited until Christmas to give him to you all. There’s a story behind him you know.”

“Yeah?” Sam asks eagerly.

“Mmmhmm.” He pulls up a chair and sits by the bed. “I didn’t actually make him, I’ve just been taking care of him. He came to me with a story of Princess Megara and the Queen of the Rats. Although, she wasn’t always known as the Queen of the Rats. Originally she was called Lady Lilith … the First Demon.”

“Demons?” Dean asks, intrigued. Chuck nods.

“Would you tell us?” Sam asks.

“Well I should start by saying that not all rats are as they seem to be. Some are in fact demons, appearing as rats because that’s all they _can_ appear as, ever since a spell was put on them by a great prophet. Though they are supposed to be locked in their own world, occasionally a small portal between the worlds is opened and they can go between ours and theirs through entrances that often look like mouse-holes.  
“But before they were rats, demons would show up as black smoke. That is, unless they were able to possess a human and use their body.”   
Sam’s eyes widen and Dean stops fiddling with the nutcracker to focus on the story.

“As I said, Lilith was the First Demon which made her their leader, and she was ambitious. Like all demons, she was eager to corrupt and condemn more souls to hell. So one day, Lilith tricked King Azazel – who was Princess Meg's father – into allowing herself and her demons to visit our world. They wanted to escape their own world to wreak havoc and take souls that were not theirs to claim. Upon discovering the trick, King Azazel was enraged at Lilith for her treachery and he asked the greatest inventor in the land, Edlund, for a solution. So, Edlund created traps for Lilith and her demons which allowed for them to be captured, and weapons to kill them once they had been trapped.  
“Lilith, angered at the death of her demons, swore that she would take revenge on Azazel by punishing Princess Meg. The girl was protected to the best of her father’s and her own abilities. She was a very capable girl,” Chuck says in an aside. He clears his throat, “Azazel even sent for Tran, a prophet who could help them. But Tran didn’t arrive before Lilith was able to weasel her way into the castle and cast a spell on Meg. The princess was revered for her wit and beauty and so Lilith chose a spell that would turn the princess ugly – giving her a huge head, a wide grinning mouth, and a cottony beard so that it was as if she was a life-sized nutcracker.”

“I don’t think looking like a nutcracker would be so bad,” Dean interjects, staring at the one in his hands. “At least not temporarily. It could’a been worse.”

Chuck smiles in agreement, glancing at the toy, and continues, “The King did not share your opinions, sadly, and blamed Edlund and Tran for his daughter being cursed. He gave them four weeks to find a cure. At the end of four weeks, Edlund had no cure put together. As a last resort, they turned to the Ancient Text - a series of proverbs and knowledge which only the prophet could read. It gave them instructions on how to limit the power of Lilith and all her demons. It was the spell that turned them to rats, reducing their demonic powers proportionally. Azazel acted upon this and as he did so, the prophet searched the text for ways to destroy all the demons. But first he came across a way to reverse any of the spells which demons had cast.  
“The text indicated that the individual needed to perform the reversal must be one whose bones were not his own, whose heart was pure even as he did that which did not benefit humanity, and whose intent from creation was to perform the will of God. The ritual itself was simply a series of motions: he must kiss her, and then with closed eyes, he must circle her seven times while chanting a specific Enochian phrase, and at then end, break a unicorn’s horn in half.  
“Edlund knew that Enochian was the language of the angels and so that got him thinking. He proposed that the one who had to perform the ritual was an angel in its vessel. Azazel sent Edlund and Tran to search for such a man, charging them on pain of death and torture not to return until they had found them.  
“They spent a year searching libraries across the land for ways to summon an angel and finally they found one in an Ancient Text that matched the prophet’s own. They returned to discover that in their absence Azazel had begun a metaphorical witch hunt – luring and kidnapping any errant angels who entered his realm and forcing them to perform the ritual but none were the right one.  
“Edlund and Tran quickly performed the summoning ritual. The angel they summoned was called Castiel.” At this, Dean and Sam steal a glance at each other but Chuck seems not to notice it, “The situation was explained and they brought the willing angel to the princess to immediately begin the ritual. As they kissed, Meg slowly became beautiful once again.” At this Dean’s brow furrows and Sam’s nose wrinkles. They both yawn.  
“But for the spell to be permanent, the angel had to finish the ritual. On the seventh circle, Lilith in her new rat form tripped the voluntarily blind angel. He had been so concentrated on the Enochian chant that he had been unaware of the demonic presence. The angel fell, interrupting the ritual, and breaking the unicorn’s horn too early. Therefore, the curse was not reversed, but merely removed from Meg and placed onto Castiel.   
“But in the midst of the upset, the unicorn horn stabbed Lilith, piercing her heart in her weak, new rat form. With her last breath, Lilith shrieked out one final curse before dying, making Castiel little more than an occasionally sentient nutcracker-sized nutcracker.  
“The ungrateful Princess, seeing how ugly her savior had become, shuddered, and called for a trash bin. Edlund was shocked and begged her to care for the angel now that she had brought this fate upon him. But the princess scoffed and Azazel reprimanded him for stepping out of place.

“The story ends,” Uncle Chuck says softly, “with Edlund taking the angelic-nutcracker and searching far and wide for a way to cure the poor angel who should have been savior and not victim.”

The boys make quiet sounds of acknowledgement but their eyes are closed. After years of conditioning, Chuck’s lulling voice has the boys drifting off after the end of the story. He leaves in time to eat lunch with the rest of the house, but throws one last glance at them before exiting.

 

 


	3. The Crisis

 

 

Dean wakes up from his nap but his eyes remain closed. He strains to hear whatever’s causing the hissing noise in his room. _A small voice_ , Dean notes, _someone who thinks he’s still asleep_. He tenses barely then sits up fast to see the Rat King at the foot of his bed. Dean immediately jumps to shield the still sleeping Sammy and the King gives a throaty laugh.

“Self-sacrificing are we?” He speaks in an English accent that Dean can’t pinpoint. Scottish, maybe?

“Well you won’t be able to protect him very well. The angel may have been able to shield you but he’s weak and you can’t protect that other boy you have with you. At least not from an entire demon army.”

“What do you want?” Dean asks angrily.

“Not much. You can imagine how much energy and crumbs it takes to keep a hell horde on its feet though. All I’m asking for is a little sustenance. Particularly that lovely bag of candy you have up there.” Dean glanced at the side table where it seemed as though the nutcracker stood guarding the sweets.

“And if I don’t fork over?” It’s a rhetorical question. He’s testing the Rat King but Sammy’s been threatened and there’s no way that Dean’s going to risk him getting hurt.

“Then the angel and the boy get some nasty bites. Maybe the nutcracker ends up a pile of paint flakes and woodchips. And the boy, well … funny thing about being a demon is that you don’t have to get your shots. And demon bites can be prone to such nasty infections – much worse than your average rodent, stuff humans haven’t seen in centuries.” Dean gave another glance to his brother and the soldier on his bedside table before acquiescing. He tossed the bag at the rat who made a disgruntled noise.

The rat scampers out the door just as Mary walks in with a tray of lunch for Dean.

“Feeling better?” she asks as she pulls at a bandage to catch a glimpse and gauge when it needs to be changed.

“Mmhmm,” he nods with a full mouth. Sam shifts and wakes up with a yawn. He blinks at Mary tucking the blankets around Dean and looks over to his brother. Without missing a beat he starts eating off of Dean’s plate.

“Oh, stop it, Sammy. If you want lunch there’s plenty of food downstairs that you can use your perfectly good legs to go get.” Mary chides.

“It’s alright, mom,” Dean says but still takes the food out of his brother’s hand. “Why don’t you go hang with Jo so she isn’t stuck with Adam? You shouldn’t be cooped up in here all day anyways.” Sam shrugs and climbs over his brother to get to the door.

“Ow!” Dean protests but Sam just smiles at him from the doorway and runs out.

Despite Dean’s discouragement, the kid still checks on him every hour or so.  That night, Sam even insists on sleeping in Dean’s room. It isn’t the first time; he’ll come in if he has a nightmare or if he’s lonely and can’t sleep. But tonight, he drifts right off while Dean can’t get to sleep. The older boy leans against the headboard wondering how crazy he is to be imagining small rodents talking to him and taking his candy. He looks over at where the bag had been and is able to see the nutcracker still standing there in the moonlight. He picks it up wondering at the story Chuck had told him earlier. He’s still holding the nutcracker as he begins to doze but he’s startled awake at a movement. A movement in his hands.

His eyes fly open, “Shit!” he whisper-yells but quickly slaps a hand over his mouth. He turns to check that his brother is still sleeping but his attention is drawn right back to his fists.

Where the nutcracker has come to life.

And is trying to wiggle free.

“I’d appreciate some room for movement. Your hands are rather warm,” the nutcracker tells him.

“Shhh!” Dean hushes him earnestly, finger over his lips.

“Apologies,” the toy says more quietly.

“So you’re really alive?”

“Excuse me?”

“I mean, I’m not imagining it? You, you really come to life?”

“Yes, though not as often or for as long as I would like. I presume your wounds are healing well? You seem to be in better condition than you were last night. You aren’t bleeding nearly as much.”

“No shit, Sherlock. What happened last night?”

The nutcracker tilts his head and squints his eyes, “After you blacked out? Before I lost sentience, I had some of the toys assist me in throwing the door open to wake someone up who would come aid you.”

“Well, thanks, but I meant the whole battle. It didn’t seem like it was an accident.”

“No,” he says simply.

“No…?” Dean waits for further explanation.

“The toys have been prepared for it and I myself was expecting it. Crowley’s troops were going to attack eventually and I knew it would be sooner rather than later so it wasn’t a surprise. I merely chose to act on the defensive.”

“Crowley. That would be…?”

“The Rat King. The one who set the hellhounds on you.”

“Yeah, wait- hellhounds? How did he even do that?”

“Magic and some of what little demonic power he still possesses.”

“Demonic power? He’s actually a demon?”

“Yes but his power has been incredibly weakened by his current condition as a rodent. Casting those spells last night didn’t do him any favors either. He will not risk another attack until he’s replenished his magical abilities more.”

“So we’re safe?” Dean watches as Sam moves in his sleep a little.

“For now. And your mark will continue to protect you from his spells. I am sorry that I’m unable to perform the same favor for your brother. I can see that he is your main concern.”

“How did you know he was my brother?”

“The same way I know that your name is Dean and that he is Sam. I was able to garner a lot of useful information before losing autonomy last night. He was very concerned for you when he came downstairs and saw you on the floor.”

“Fuck, he shouldn’t be worrying about me… it’s my job to worry about him.” He brushes the younger boy’s bangs away from his forehead. He turns back to the nutcracker, “So how much longer do you have?”

“I don’t know.” The toy wears a perplexed look on his face.

“Well I’ll clock it. In the mean-time, now that we’ve had introductions and since I’ve never met a talking toy before, what’s it like to be a nutcracker?” Dean wants to see how much Castiel will tell him on his own. He doesn’t want to give too much away in case Chuck’s story wasn’t true so that Castiel can’t just go with it.

“Well I certainly feel useful. Though, I should hope I don’t have to crack anything with my teeth while I’m aware. I feel it would be an unpleasant sensation.”

“But you don’t mind it when you aren’t … awake?”

“Not particularly. It’s a different form of perception during the time period when I can’t talk or move of my own volition.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m able to get vague impressions of what’s going on in my surroundings but it’s rare that I’m able to give details of what went on during that time. I mostly glean emotions or ideas.” He paused but Dean didn’t say anything. Again, the nutcracker cocks his head to the side and squints, “I suppose it’s like a dream-state, though I haven’t ever had much occasion to sleep seeing as for my entire existence I’ve either been an angel or a semi-inanimate entity.”

“You don’t sleep?”

“No.”

“Lucky! Sleeping sucks. I mean it’s great when I’m tired and I like sleeping in, but sometimes I wish I didn’t have to. You know, so there’d be more time for other stuff.”

He squints and nods, “I see.”  It doesn’t really seem like he does but Dean just gives an odd smile at the funny way the nutcracker is trying to piece together the information he’s taking in.

“So if you don’t sleep, what did you do when you weren’t on angel duty?”

“Angels don’t just leave their post. They are always faithful to their duties.”

“Always on the job? No breaks at all? Was the human world so boring that you couldn’t even bother to look at it for two minutes to see if anything fun was happening that you might like?”

“On the contrary. I found humans very fascinating.” He gives Dean a look that might be a smile, “I still find them fascinating.”  He pauses. “Some of my brothers and sisters, however, had more occasion to do so and I would hear them regale with stories about it. I liked the idea I held of the humans. I find you support the impression I have of them.”

Dean just watches him and Cas stares right back. Cas is the first to break, “Are you often this silent?”

“What? Um, no. No.” Cas continues to watch him so he glances towards the window, trying to think of something to say.

Dean clears his throat, “So, why aren’t you always awake? Why just at night?”

“Part of it is incurred from the spell that’s been cast on me. I’m not sure I’d be able to rouse myself at all were the magic not weaker in this world.  But another aspect of it is belief. I can harness the energy given off by people’s souls immersed in faith and goodwill to sustain myself.  But it’s much easier now that I’m here … with you.”

“Me?”

“Your soul emits an inordinate amount of … righteousness, for lack of a better word.”

“Are you kidding? I have zero faith. And righteousness?” Dean makes an obnoxious noise of dismissiveness.

“Say what you will, but the fact that I’m animated bears strong argument against you.” Castiel looks contemplative and attempts to pick up where they drifted off topic, “Here, I find myself more aware during the day and less depleted trying to maintain wakefulness at night. When humans dream, especially during the Christmas season, it projects much more of the energy radiating from their souls.”

“So you’re runnin’ on Christmas magic there, Frosty?”

“Frosty?”

“Nevermind … Why don’t you tell me about where you’re from?” This is where he can test the angel against what he’s been told by Chuck. He’d love to believe his godfather but the man is the best storyteller Dean knows. Really, he should be an author rather than an inventor.

Castiel gives glowing descriptions of beautiful horizons, thriving cities, literally magic settings, and dangerous, holy missions. He details his angel duties, sometimes going on tangents that Dean can’t follow. Everything he says aligns with what Chuck had told him. Dean still wants to reserve his trust, but this is a good start.

It’s well into the early hours of the morning when their conversation is brought to a close. But whether it’s because Dean fell asleep or Castiel lost his ability to function, neither will be able to recall the next day.

 

 


	4. The Bargain

 

 

By the time Dean wakes up the next morning, Sammy’s already gone. Not surprising considering how late he stayed up talking with and then thinking – or, wait, no; was it dreaming? – about the nutcracker. _Castiel_ , he corrects himself. He looks outside the window above his bedside table. It’s nearly noon and bright light is attempting to shine through heavy clouds. Maybe it’ll be a white Christmas after all. Only five more days.

 

He’s had his presents wrapped for a week now and Sammy would be done today if the kid ever gets a moment to himself. Dean looks to the closet where a few of Sam’s presents are hidden on a shelf he’s sure Sammy had to use a stool to reach in order to hide them there. Dean had figured out the “secret location” the night after Sammy had come back from the store with Mom. He gives him props for using Dean’s room instead of his own to hide them but Sammy still needed to up his game. Kid hadn’t even bothered to disguise the bag they were in. Amateur.

Dean is an expert by now and Sam’s almost given up entirely on trying to find his hiding spots. He rotates them every year to be sure, though. Jo, however, gets incredibly worked up over trying to find them. One year they’d played hide and seek and when Jo was seeker, she spent thirty minutes looking for presents instead of the brothers. They revealed themselves because they’d gotten so bored and that’s when they caught her rifling in the kitchen cabinets. Adam was very upset at having tried to be still for thirty minutes for no reason, so they kept playing at his insistence but Jo wasn’t allowed to be seeker anymore. The funny thing was that in one of the later rounds, she had actually hidden in the closet where a good number of the presents were. Dean had a difficult time trying to hide his laughter and had to quit the game before he gave away the cache.

It is as he’s mulling this over that Mary walks in with breakfast.

“Morning, sleepyhead. Feeling better?”

Dean smiles at her, “Yeah, I’m doin’ great.” She places the tray in front of him and begins to look at his bandages. “So, doc, what’s the verdict? Can I leave the sickbay?”

“Sorry, champ. We’re waiting on a Christmas miracle. You’re stuck at least until tomorrow.”

“Oh, _please_ , mom? I’m goin’ nuts in here!”

“Don’t you have some school reading to do?”

“It’s _Cat’s Cradle_. I’ve already read it.”

“But how long ago?”

“Come on, mom.”

“Dean, you’ll be fine waiting another day. Sam’s downstairs with his girlfriend but he said to tell you that he promises to come visit later. I’m going to the bakery to pick up some papers and organize the schedules for February, so I’ll be gone most of the day.”  He sighs and she kisses his forehead. “You’ll find something to do. You know you love Vonnegut. Read it again; it won’t kill you and you’ll get an easy A.”

“Bye, mom.”

Dean rolls over to the other side of his bed to reach over the side and pull a well-used book from the bottom of the shelf by his bed. He brushes off some dirt that had gotten on the cover and then fluffs his pillows to settle in.

The nutcracker stands vigilant on his bedside table and he finds that for once, Vonnegut can’t keep his attention for long. His eyes repeatedly stray to his right to steal a glance at the wooden figure who had spoken to him for so long last night. Now that he isn’t talking, though, the silence is oppressive so Dean puts in his headphones to drown it out, pulling out one of the many CD’s he’s pilfered from his dad’s collection and a Walkman he’d picked up at a yard-sale.

The loud echoes of “The Wall” are what prevent him from being aware of his unwanted visitor until it crouches at the foot of his bed. He jumps, yanking the headphones from his ears and dropping the book into his lap. He scrambles to sit up and distance himself from the Rat King whose beady eyes gleam in the sunlight from the window.

 “Did you really think I wouldn’t be back?” The words drip from his throat.

Dean gives a sneer, “I was hoping for a Christmas miracle.”

The rodent tutts at him, “Saving that for your war wounds, aren’t we?”

 _He’d been in here to hear that?_ Dean tucks his legs beneath him, wincing a little.

The king grins and continues, “That candy was rather tasty and my soldiers are prone to many nasty things, one of which happens to be gluttony. Demon army, you know.”

“And?”

“And I’m back for more you brat.”

“What if I don’t have any?”

“You know very well what happens. I’ve got an entire demon army willing to gobble up your little angel. And the nutcracker too I suppose. There’s really no use pretending, I can smell it from here.”

Dean grimaces but scoots over so he can reach the bottom drawer of his nightstand. He pulls out a half full bag of assorted Halloween candy. It isn’t fresh but he’s been nibbling away at it when the moment strikes since October. Now it’ll be put to use: protecting his brother, and eaten by someone who doesn’t care if the peanut butter in the Reese's cups is dry.

He tosses it to the demon who takes a moment to peer inside. “Oh no, this simply won’t do, love. We’ll need more than that.”

“Well I don’t have more! That’s it!”

The king narrows his tiny eyes and Dean scrambles for another solution, “I can get you more tomorrow but I’m stuck in here until my mom lets me leave the house!”

The rat gives a hum, “You’re going to have to put up something as collateral then, won’t you?” Dean gives a puzzled expression for a moment before the king continues, “Surely you know how fond we demons are of deals. Those toys you’ve got there will do nicely.” He indicates some collectible Lord of the Rings action figures on one of the middle tiers of the shelf beside his bed. Dean grimaces and shoots him a glare but leans over to pull them off the shelf. He tries to brush Galadriel under his bed because he _just_ got her but the rat catches him, “Ah-ah-ah, all of them.” Dean scoops them up and drops them in the candy bag before throwing it to the king once more.

“I’ll see you tomorrow evening for a refill. Pleasure doing business.” He scampers down the hall with his guards and goods in tow.

Dean sighs and looks at where the nutcracker stands on his bedside table. He reaches over and picks it up, clutching it in his lap. He sits for a moment just looking it - _him_  - over. Had their conversation even been real? It had seemed so at the time, and Dean is fully willing to believe it was anything other than a dream. He runs his fingers through the feathers of the wings and the soft fluffy hair that the nutcracker – _Castiel_ – is sporting.  “This is ground control to Major Tom,” he says. He watches the face for any signs of life and thinks of how those painted blue eyes that are so captivating now looked even more stunning beneath dark, blinking lashes.

He bites his lip, thinking for a moment. The guy had said he could perceive stuff, right?

“You know, I don’t think I’d ever seen a nutcracker in real life before I met you . So you’ve set the bar a little high.”   
Dean finds that now that he’s started talking he isn’t very inclined to stop.  
At some point between talking about last year’s Thanksgiving and this year’s birthday, “Castiel” becomes “Cas.”

The conversation is cut off when Sammy comes in for a visit. They spend the afternoon hanging out, watching Home Alone on Dean’s laptop.   
When John brings in Dean’s dinner he tries to insist that Sam come eat with everyone else, but the kid is stubborn, and John decides he doesn’t really have the heart to separate the two of them. Sam cannot, however, convince him to bring up a second plate, and is forced to go fetch his own dinner.   
The rest of the evening passes quietly. Sam sleeps in his own room that night because he’s much less worried about Dean.

As soon as he’s gone from the room, Dean’s reaching for Cas and settling in for another long night. He tries his hardest to stay awake. If it were any other night, he’d be snacking on his candy stash for the sugar rush to keep him alert. Dean does in fact end up dozing, but Cas has no qualms about waking him a little while later.

“Hey, Cas,” he yawns, “what time is it?”

“I’m not sure. I enjoyed our last conversation. Will you continue the story you were telling me earlier before Sam came in?”

Dean blushes, “You could actually hear me? Shit, man, I was just rambling.”  
Dean had thought it would be like when you talk to a plant and it grows better – that Cas would enjoy the attention. Not that he’d take down every word.

“It was pleasant.”

“Uh, yeah, sure. Sure.” He clears his throat and gets into it. When he finishes the story he flawlessly moves on to talking about his family members and the guests at the party before Cas’s box was opened.

“Who was the girl who broke me?”

“Ugh, _Ruby_. She’s Sam’s girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend?”

“Yeah, you know. Someone he kisses, and flirts with, and probably jacks off thinking about.”

Cas cocks his head at Dean’s unfamiliar candidness, and narrows his eyes, “Does everyone have a girlfriend?”

Dean huffs a laugh, “No, some people have boyfriends. Or they aren’t dating anyone. Or they marry their girlfriend or boyfriend and become husband and -”

“I know what marriage is, Dean. My understanding of courtship is just different.”

Dean rolls his eyes.

“What about yours?”

“Mine? My what?”

“Your girlfriend. Or, boyfriend. I presume that if Sam has one you have one as well.”

“Uh, no, no. I’m one of the people who isn’t dating anyone right now.”

“Why?”

“Why-? Seriously, this is what you’re curious about? Can’t we talk about something else? Educate you about humanity?”

“This is educational.”

Dean sighs and throws the covers off. “C’mon. If we’re gonna get sappy with your education, it’ll go down better with a slice of pie and a place where I can actually stay awake.”

Halfway down the stairs he halts in his tracks, “Shit! The kitchen is where the rats are living.”

“Given the amount of candy you’ve supplied them with, they’ll be in a sated and inattentive state. Besides that, they’re hidden deeply in the kitchen walls. We’ll be safe.”

Dean finds himself trusting this line of logic and they proceed to the kitchen. Dean takes Cas off of where he’d been sitting on his shoulder and sets him on the counter while he microwaves his pie. He intends to change the topic to something less personal but as soon as he turns around Cas jumps in; “Why don’t you have a girlfriend or boyfriend?”

“Uh, I did over the summer. Benny. But apparently it was just a summer thing.” He clears his throat, “Which is fine. Now I’m working on Lisa and Cassie. Hopefully one of them enjoyed the mistletoe enough to call me by the end of break. Lisa dragged me back for seconds so it’s a pretty sure thing.” He grins.

Cas nods as if Dean’s lecturing him on weather patterns, “Fascinating.”

“Alrighty then, Mr. Spock. What else do you want to know about humanity?”

Dean ends up describing school, how he sometimes works at his dad’s shop, afternoons at Mary’s bakery, taking Sammy to sports practice, and babysitting Adam. Before he can get into any of his hobbies, he turns around from putting his dish in the sink to find that Cas is stock still and unresponsive.

 

On his way back up the staircase, Dean begins to wonder.

Chuck never pulled their leg; never tried to trick them. He respected the children, which made them adore and respect him right back. He’d always had a knack for telling stories but this one had the weight of truth. He hadn’t implied he was giving them facts but he’d indicated that he hadn’t made this one up himself. _And_ , Dean thinks, the way Chuck told it made it feel like he’d been there.

Dean sighs and tucks himself back into bed. This is ridiculous, he isn’t going to figure anything out. That is, if there even is anything to figure out.

He sighs and turns on his side to face Cas. His feathers glisten in the silver-brightness streaming in through the window and his silhouette is haloed in moonlight.

Dean smiles contentedly – _haloed_ ; a true angel.

 

 


	5. The Team

 

 

On what would be the third day of his confinement, Mary gives full permission for Dean to leave his room. When he tries to go play videogames, she promptly sends him outside with everyone else.

The snow clouds look heavier and the temperature has dropped further. Dean flings a scarf around his neck before stepping into the cold. Jo is chasing Adam around the back yard and the little boy’s breath huffs and puffs clouds into the air. He screams with laughter when Sam jumps out from behind the big tree that holds up their tree house. Adam turns around but doesn’t watch where he’s going so he screams again, when he runs into Dean, giggling uncontrollably as his older brother scoops him up.

They stay out well past the point when all of their noses are bright red and Dean’s joking about it started an impromptu Rudolph sing-along. It’s just as Adam’s stomach starts growling that Mary calls them in for lunch.

“You got a tiger in there, kiddo?” Dean hefts Adam onto his shoulders.

“Yeah! And it wants mac’n’cheese!”

“Don’t you eat anything else?”

 

 

After lunch, Dean helps Adam clean up then goes looking for Sam. He finds him on the floor near the barely-lit fireplace. He thinks Sam is just reading comics but resting on his chest is a toy Dean’s never seen before. Sam hasn’t noticed him so Dean darts down and snatches it.

“Hey!” Sam sits bolt-upright.

“What is this?” Dean turns it over.

“Be careful with that! It’s a collectible!”

Dean holds it to his chest and turns his body away as Sam reaches for it, “And yet it’s out of its box.”

Sam huffs, “He looks cool and I wanted to take him out. So sue me!” The kid looks flustered so Dean rolls his eyes and hands it gingerly back. Sam has the nerve to inspect it as if there could have been damage done while still in his line of sight.

“What even is that?”

“It’s … it’s a collectible.”

“Thank you Major Redundancy. Have you seen Captain Obvious lately?”

“It’s my favorite comic villain. Ruby gave it to me for Christmas when she came over the other day and we exchanged gifts.”

“Why’re you being so anal about it?”

“Because he’s super rare and Ruby got me the limited edition …” here Sam begins going off on a rant, which makes it clear to Dean exactly how valuable Sam finds the piece of plastic in his hand.

“Okay! Okay! I get it!” Dean interrupts.

“I’m just glad I bought her that really nice locket,” Sam continues.

“Good for you, sport. I’m sure you’ll win boyfriend of the year.” He gets up and heads for the kitchen.

“Hey, where are you going?”

“To buy some nerd-disinfectant from the supermarket. I’ll be back in a half hour.”

 

Dean’s low on cash from his present buying so he isn’t able to buy more than a few bags of assorted candy. He hopes it will be enough to keep the Rat King at bay.

On his way home, _of course,_ he starts thinking about the threats. And then about his new friend who is currently a steady weight at his side.   
Dean has talked with Castiel two nights in a row now for hours on end and he feels surprisingly close to him considering the timeframe. His presence, even when inanimate, is comforting.

 

“I’m home!” He sets his bag on the floor and takes his jacket off. Sam walks past the entryway just as Dean happens to be pulling Cas from his jacket pocket.

Dean startles when Sam blurts out, “Did you take him to the store with you?”

“What? No.”

“Dude you totally did.”

“Did not.”

“You took him to the store with you?” Jo asks, approaching from around the corner with a smile on her lips. “Man, you’re more obsessed with that thing than Sam is with his action figure!” She laughs, “Isn’t that adorable. When’s the wedding?”

Dean grits his teeth in embarrassment. Can’t he have this one thing without being harassed? He feels shitty enough about becoming so attached as it is.

“Oh! You and Sam can have a double wedding. And we’ll plan the reception in Adam’s dollhouse.”

“Bite me, Jo.” He stalks past them and into the kitchen where he sets Cas and the bag of candy on the counter. Cas is not just an inanimate object. He’s a person. So what if Dean wants to spend a lot of time with his new friend? Who cares?

Dean cares, that’s who. He feels weird about how much he likes Cas. It _is_ weird. But Dean had liked listening to him talk that second night. And he’d liked how much Cas listened to him last night. It felt like he had actually cared about what Dean had to say.

Dean begins to rummage through the fridge. He doesn’t turn around when a stool squeaks and the plastic bag rustles. He does turn around after Sam starts speaking.

“I wasn’t really gonna make fun of you for it.”

Dean turns back to the fridge and pulls out a casserole.

“I wanted to know if he’d come to life again.”

“Okay.” He heats up a plate for himself and one for Sam too because that’s how it always is.

“So has he?” The microwave beeps.

Dean turns to his brother, plates in hand, and sets them down, “Yeah, he has. Late at night for two nights now.”

“So is Uncle Chuck’s story true?”

“Honestly? I don’t know. It – I think it could be. Things are adding up. I mean, how could Uncle Chuck have known the nutcracker’s name? He was out of the house in the workshop when I told you and you were the only person I told. I don’t think Cas has talked to anyone about it,” Dean scoffs and takes a bite of food. “Besides, Cas’s story is lining up. Especially with the shit Crowley’s pulling on me.”

“Wait, it’s Cas now? And who’s Crowley?”

Dean swallows loudly, “Yeah. So things got crazier the night after I got hurt. Remember the Rat King I mentioned?” Sam nods. “Well, he’s extorting me for candy in exchange for your and Cas’s safety. I had to go to the store because I ran out. I just hope it’s enough.” Dean looks down at his plate.

Sam nods thoughtfully. “You can use my candy.” Dean looks up. “I want to stay up with you tonight. Prove to me you aren’t crazy. Maybe we can figure something out about Crowry. Besides, I’d like to meet Cas.”

“It’ s Crowley, but … that sounds good.” He smiles and takes a bite of casserole off of Sam’s plate.

 

That night, Cas wakes up before Crowley arrives. Sam had brought a book with him to try and read in the interim but he couldn’t sit still or focus long enough to get further than a couple of pages. By this point he’d asked Dean every variant of every question to which Dean had the answer. The ones he couldn’t answer he told Sam to just, “Write ‘em down and chill out. You can ask him when he wakes up.”

Dean was awake but spacing out when Cas began to move.

“Hi!” Sam leans forward and beams. Cas recoils slightly in surprise. “I’m Sam!” He extends a hand.

“Yes, I’m Castiel.” He grips Sam’s index finger in lieu of a real handshake.

Dean sits back and lets them talk. Watching them interact is an amalgamation of a sitcom and a tennis match. And of course Dean is more than happy with all that he learns about Cas thanks to Sam’s clever questions.

Their attention snaps to the cracked-open door; from the hall is coming a loud clattering. Sam and Dean exchange worried glances but Cas goes into a fighting crouch and draws the little silver blade he carries.

Through the door scurries Crowley with a demon horde. They surround the foot of the bed as well as the side closest to the door. Sam is appalled at how many there are but protectively shields Cas, much to the angel’s indignation.

“Sam, I am more than capable of defending us. Please allow me to –“

“That little blade isn’t going to do much for you. Unless, of course, you’re a fully-fledged angel again and can counter all of my magic.” He pauses for effect, knowing he’ll be met with silence and surveys the faces at the head of the bed. “Well, well, well. The gang’s all here.”

“Yeah, and we have your candy so keep your panties on and call the henchmen off.”

“We’ll be out of your hair once we’ve got what we came for.”

Dean turns and opens the drawer to his nightstand, pulling out the grocery bag of candy he bought this morning. He tosses it to the foot of the bed.

“Well isn’t that a nice little morsel,” he king says, giving it a once-over, “but you’ll have to give more than that if you want your toys back.”

Sam leans over his side of the bed. The rat army tenses but is placated when Sam surfaces with his mostly-full bag of Christmas candy. “Take it.”

“Smart lad.” He turns to two rats with a bag and whistles. They manage to shove it up onto the bed and the king tells Dean, “Fair is fair. Just make sure you’ve got more candy by this time tomorrow night or there will be -”

“Consequences, yeah we get it,” Dean grouses.

The king offers a buck-toothed, farcical smile, “Good. Then we’ll be off.” He whistles again and the swarm exits as loudly as they entered.

Dean clambers out of bed to reshelf his action figures.

“I cannot allow this to continue.”

Dean looks up at Cas’s words and gets back into bed.

“Crowley wouldn’t be bothering or threatening you if I hadn’t gotten you involved.”

“Excuse me but were you the one to throw the slipper? I don’t think so.”

“Still, Crowley must be stopped. He's pursuing the same agenda as his predecessor.”

“Lilith,” Sam pipes up.

“Yes," there's resentment in his tone. For obvious reasons.

Dean frowns, "She was a bitch, man. You didn't deserve that."

"Thank you for your condolences. I only wish they could help my situation."

"Me too."

Cas sighs, “After this, and with the way the battle went, I see a forward approach isn’t going to work against him. I’ll have to go after him stealthily.” Dean and Sam exchange a look. “It troubles me to go alone but obviously he is stronger under battlefield tactics given his numbers… and magic.”

“And how ya gonna do that? You heard what he said about your sword. And from your reaction I’m guessing he wasn’t lying.”

“No, he was correct. I’ll just have to do my best to go completely undetected until I can find his weakness. There's something else going on. He's too powerful - his power isn't proportional to his size as it should be. I suspect that there’s something enhancing his powers. If I could destroy whatever that was he’d be reduced to a strength barely exceeding that of his soldiers.”

“You’re just going to go in unarmed?” Sam asks incredulously.

“I’ll be careful. My angel blade will still keep them from injuring me too badly.”

Sam sits baffled at the recklessness but Dean has the sense to keep protesting, “Cas, this is a suicide mission. We can’t let you do this, man.”

“Dean, I’ve been meaning to do this for some time. I had just hoped to find an alternative first. Time is running out for myself and for other options to present themselves and it’s not as if he’ll be satisfied with bribes of candy forever.” He rests his little wooden hand on Dean’s knee, “I can do this.”

Dean’s going to regret this.

“You won’t regret this.” Cas takes his silence for a ‘yes’. Or at least Dean supposes that’s what it is. Because it would just be disconcerting if he could read the assent in Dean’s eyes.

They manage to keep conversation up for a while longer but eventually the little soldier loses sentience with his blade clutched at the ready.

Dean places him on the nightstand and clicks off his bedside lamp. With the light from the window, Dean can see that Sam still looks like he’s overthinking something.

"How did the other toys come alive?"

"Haven't you ever seen Toy Story, dumbass?"

Sam snorts and rolls his eyes but pauses, “… Wait, really?”

 “Sure. I don’t know. Besides, didn’t you hear whatever Cas said about Christmas magic?”

“No.”

Oh, that’s right, he wasn’t there – or, he was there but asleep.

“Well, he did. Goodnight.” Dean rolls over and lets himself worry about his friend until he drifts off.

 

 


	6. The Mission

 

 

The boys are tense the next day. Both are wary of the rats and check each room for them before entering.

The stress is temporarily relieved when that night the adults usher everyone into the street, bundled so they can barely move, and walk the neighborhood on a tour of all the glowing Christmas decorations. The distraction is nice and outside of the house there are no demonic rodents to fret over.

Dean allows his youngest brother to hold his left hand. He keeps his right hand deep in his pocket, curled protectively around Cas.

 

Bedtime comes quickly with the inviting warmth of curling under blankets. When all the lights have gone out, Sam sneaks into Dean’s room. They huddle together, still a bit chilled from going straight to bed after walking through the streets. And instead of going to sleep, they bicker about the carolers they ran into on the way home.  

“I _still_ say ‘Good King Wenceslas’ isn’t a Christmas song.”

“ _Goodnight_ , Dean,” Sam rolls onto his side in an attempt to ignore his brother. “Get me up for Cas, would ya?”

Dean sighs and stares at the ceiling as he waits on his friend.

 

Cas leaves as soon as he wakes.  
Not so much as a ‘by your leave’ or ‘kiss my foot’ is offered when he launches off the nightstand and out Dean’s bedroom door.

“Yeesh Cas, you suck at goodbyes,” Dean mumbles to himself. He throws another blanket over a groggy Sam who’s trying to wake himself up.

“Dean, is he awake?”

“Yeah, go back to sleep, he’s already gone.”

"Wake me up when he gets back..." the request ends in soft snores.

Dean considers going downstairs to help but he figures at this point he'd be more of a distraction than anything. Besides it isn’t as if he can fit in the walls to help Cas fight.

So Dean takes to doing one of the things he does best: brooding and thinking self-depreciating thoughts. Such as worrying over what will happen to himself and Sam if Cas doesn’t make it; Would he be able to know for sure if Cas wasn’t alive? How could he rescue the angel? How long until the candy bribes stop working? Will he have to fight the Rat King himself? Will the protection spell still work?

He’s being stupid for worrying so much over Cas. _I mean, he says he can take care of himself._ He hasn’t known the guy very long and –

Dean cuts himself off.   
This whole situation is off-the-charts ridiculous.

He listens for any strange noises but only hears a few errant scratches and the house creaking softly.

The grandfather clock’s chiming greets him in seemingly rapid succession; each hour shorter than the last. He begins to worry if Cas will make it back before he blacks out.

“Come on, you stupid bastard.”

 

Dean has moved to biting the nails of his left hand when the door gives a sad creak. He tenses, but his face breaks into a relieved smile when the angel hobbles into the room – a little worse for wear but still fine. Dean starts to get off the bed.

“Hey angel,” he scoops him off the floor and puts him on top of the covers. “Sammy. Sam, get up, Cas is back.”

“Hmm? Cas?” He rubs his eyes, “Did you get ‘em? The Rat King?”

“I’m afraid not.” At the brothers’ puzzled stares, he elaborates. “I was able to enter the tunnel system they’ve established without earning the guards’ attention.”

“How?”   
Cas isn’t one to offer information readily and Dean wants to know everything.

“They were lounging about on the kitchen counters, so it was fairly easy. In any case, I escaped their notice but I had to make my way deep into the tunnels before I happened upon Crowley’s makeshift throne room and headquarters.”

“What was it like? What were they doing?” Dean asks.

“They were trying to use an Ancient Text to reverse the spell that kept them in rodent form. They were intent on decoding it.” 

“Like the ones the prophet guy was using to find you.”

Cas nods, “Exactly. And given that it was of that same nature, only the prophet can read it.”

“So how were they doing anything with it?”

“Apparently they found a way to use it without doing any deciphering. They had found that the tablet itself was inherently usable. All Crowley had to do was say a spell to activate it and the tablet began emanating power that he could readily use to enhance his abilities.”

Dean looks over and notices that Sam is dozing again, “Hey! Wake up! You love this shit.”

“Tell me in the morning.”

Dean rolls his eyes and focuses back on Castiel, who continues speaking, “I was afraid it would be unwise to outright attack Crowley, especially when he had a tablet as his resource. So I decided that stealing the tablet was my best option.”

“ _Stealing-?!_ Sorry, go on,” Dean cuts himself off at the nasty look he gets for interrupting.

Cas continues: “I knew it wouldn’t be far from his throne room so I searched until I found a chunk of stone with scribbling on it that would have been too big for less than three rats to carry together.” Cas withdraws something from his uniform’s jacket, “I was able to conserve my power today for some situation just such as this one, so I had enough to shrink it down to a manageable size for myself.”

“Woah,” Dean takes the stone and looks over it.

He holds up his blade, “But in the time that took me, I was discovered by a guard. I had to kill him before he raised the alarm.” Dean raises his eyebrows and peers at the obviously bloody weapon.

“And now,” Cas explains, “without the tablet, Crowley’s demonic powers will actually be proportioned to his rat size. The demon empire will fall without a leader.  They will only be an occasional nuisance.”

A wide, open-mouthed grin has settled on Dean’s face, “Dude!” He holds out his hand for a high-five and Cas reaches forward to grip Dean’s thumb with his whole hand. Dean just snickers and lets it hang for a moment.

“Now that all the badassery is over, you’d probably like to rest, huh?”

“Actually, I’d prefer to converse if you’re up for it. I know this is late for you too.”

“Nah, I’m up for it, man.”

   
With a little over an hour and a half left before they expect Cas to go comatose, Cas begins to mull over how wonderful life will be back in the world he came from.

“Perhaps now the Sugarplum Fairy will come out of hiding.”

“Who?”

“She’s queen of the fae. And one of the few beings who would be able to cure my condition. I hope to one day return to my world and seek her out.”

“… Is there enough time?”

“Time?”

“For us to go back and look for her? Now.”

“Now? You would -? …” Cas looks at a loss, “It … we could try. I’d have to use my magic and, it’s important you know that time passes differently, faster, there than here. Nearly an hour can go by and you’ll have been there for what feels like weeks.”

“You’re not exactly making me want to retract the offer, Cas.”

“I … suppose it couldn’t hurt to try. If you’re sure, that is.”

“Hell, yeah! Sammy!” He shakes the boy’s shoulder, “We’re about to Quantum Leap this shit.”

 

They rouse Sam and make their way down to the clock. When they arrive, Cas professes an increased ability in his magic.

“What do you mean?”

“The tablet allows me significant power. I’ve got enough of my own magical abilities left to channel its power towards me. But I don’t know how much power it will take me to open the portal and safely pass through. With your permission, I’d like to use soul magic on you two.”

Ever concerned with protecting Sam, Dean asks, “You’re sure it’s safe?”

“Completely,” Cas assures him.

Once he’s said the spell, Sam asks, “Why didn’t you do this before? During the battle and stuff?”

“‘S probably easier when you’re not being attacked by rats,” Dean notes.

“Significantly,” Cas says with a small, wry smile.

The angel turns to the wall and extends a hand towards the mouse-hole then speaks in the guttural language he’d used for Dean’s protection spell. Dean feels a slight tingling in his chest and figures it must be Cas drawing from his soul juice or whatever. In his hand, the tablet glows and then flickers. The portal, hardly large enough for Cas to fit through, expands rapidly until Dean is sure that even John could crawl through it.

Cas takes a deep breath and turns to them, “Shall we?”

Dean looks to his brother who’s grinning with excitement and they follow the angel through the passage. 

 

 


	7. The Adventure

 

 

Dean wakes on the 23rd, shocked to find himself in his own bed. The house seems especially quiet tonight and he can hear the grandfather clock downstairs chime half past four.

_Wait, he wasn’t –_

_…  it can’t be half past –_

_… he was just – Was he in fucking Narnia?_

His mind is full of vague memories of a beautiful land and a months long journey with his brother and Castiel.

He gets up and walks to his window, eyes catching on the moon only momentarily before he closes them and focuses on his recall. He takes a deep breath and imagines the exotic sights and fragrances of the capital city.

It was like a kingdom made of sweets. Everything was frosty and tenuous. The houses could have been constructed from gingerbread and frosting going by their appearance. Everyone had looked as if they’d belonged in a ballet; delicate, lovely, lighter than air. And their clothes were fantastic, elaborate costumes. The people’s extravagance knew no bounds. Dean had seen everything from stiff, tulle skirts and men wearing chartreuse leggings to silver silk slippers and gold embroidered vests. They all looked as if they were about to leap into dance – their movements fluid and purposeful. Everyone carrying about them the grace of a swan. Yes, a ballet was exactly what it made Dean think of.

And of course, adventure riddled their every turn. The memories unfolded willingly now.

 

 

 They stumbled into grey sunshine. The boys were startled and a bit disoriented. More so when they looked up to find a human-sized Castiel standing before them.

The wooden, jointed limbs and shiny paint contrasted stunningly in the dull grey light and decay of the forest around them. He exuded a youthful glow, and even the chiseled wood shape of his face seemed young. If Dean had to guess, he wouldn’t have put him a day over 17. Dean also noted that the blue of his eyes was more captivating and his messy hair more obvious at this size. Sam’s eyes bugged out and Dean muttered, “Wow.”

Cas looked happily down at his flexing hands, “I was nervous that I would be unable to remain sentient in my world, but your souls are incredibly powerful. You have faith that I would be able to safely transport you here. Such faith, in fact, that I was able to manifest myself as I once was in this vessel.” Behind him, his wings rustle and he gives them a glance, “well, almost.” 

“So your vessel, is he…?”

“Still with me? No. Lilith’s spell severed his soul from this body.” He gives his wings a shake and a concentrated expression rests on his features, “I’m also afraid none of my powers have returned, either. I’m relying entirely on the both of you at the present.”

“Will you be okay?”

“Yes, we all should be. In fact, magic is easier to manipulate now that I’m back in this realm and feeding off of your faith. It’s more potent and readily available here.”

 

Once they made the short walk far enough north, they had emerged from the woods and could see towers on the horizon. That had supplied them with a second wind. They heard the city before they could see it in detail, and once they passed through the city gates they were bombarded with sensory explosions. Vibrantly colored flags and canvases flew above market stalls and performance tents. Rich spices and sweet aromas – citrus, nutmeg, baking bread, savory meats – perforated the air and had them salivating. Music, singing, laughter, conversation; a total atmosphere of celebration surrounded them and they ate up every bit.

Cas had told them it was only so extravagant because they were celebrating the week long End of Fall Festival, but the boys marveled at it all.

Cas was the one to suggest they stay in the city for the duration of the carnival. He insisted that it would give them time to gather information. The fae were known to make appearances at the city’s large festivals.   
So the trio made plans to enjoy themselves for the week and seek out the fae who might know the whereabouts of the Sugarplum Fairy.

Those seven days quickly became one of the best weeks of the brothers’ lives. Hours were passed touring the city or watching street performances. Sam was enthralled with every sidewalk magic show or small-stage performance they passed. Dean tasted every food item available and had to be dragged away from the inventors’ booths. Castiel was charmed by all the traditions that the people celebrated – both the old ones and the more modern ones. There was always something new to do or someone new to meet.

Vendors were pleasant, performers were accommodating, inventors were stimulating, but by far the most fascinating thing they did was talk to the fae. They were each so enigmatic and enchanting that Dean was fairly certain he would have gone through something akin to another sexuality crisis had he not been otherwise, shall we say, distracted already.

At the end of the week, the troupe had acquired a list of locations and individuals to seek out.  The search seemed hopeless, though, even to Sam and Dean.

 

The most marvelous experience of the whole journey, in Dean’s humble opinion, was the closing of the festival. The last event on the last day was a ball held in honor of visiting royalty; specifically, the fae and creatures of the ether.

Cas said this was their sole remaining chance to find someone in the city who knew where the Sugarplum fairy might be.

They spent the morning seeking out Castiel’s final contacts and then acquiring appropriate costumes so that they could blend in.

Dean had grumbled during the fitting and buying process. He felt out of place - unfit to be wearing such finery. But he looked nice. _Really_ nice. And Sam thought the whole experience was remarkable and had a good laugh when it was Dean being fitted. Not that the kid looked any less odd in his own ensemble when it was his turn.

Besides, they were on a mission. It really began to feel like undercover work when the boys split up and arranged to meet at the top of every hour to exchange information and modify tactics. In between meetings, they mingled, picked up information, and looked for a fairy wearing a crown (sadly, it was the only clue they had to go on).

 

Midway through the evening, the music took a turn in cadence and tone. He noticed Cas perk up and make his way through the crowds to Dean at the shift.

“This is it.” Cas had said, too busy looking excitedly around the room to meet Dean’s curious eyes. “This is where she’s going to make her appearance.”

“What? Where?”

“I don’t know. I can’t imagine she’s here yet but it isn’t as if we’d be able to see her.” Nonetheless they both fruitlessly search the sea of swaying bodies. “She, herself is certain to be on the dance floor when she does appear. But-“ Cas places a hand on Dean’s shoulder to balance himself as he goes about the absurd looking motion of standing on tip-toe in an effort to see through the throng.

“But it’s too crowded to see anything from the sidelines,” Dean finishes for him.

“Exactly,” Cas descends and makes eye contact before looking back out into the mass. “If she shows up she will be in the thick of it. And we will see none of it,” he huffs in frustration – a gesture that catches Dean off guard and amuses him a bit. “Going on to the dance floor itself would provide the best vantage point but vision is still inhibited, limited to the periphery and whatever is going on behind the head of our partners. Not to mention that we’d be likely to miss something when our backs were turned.”

 

An idea had struck, and suddenly, Dean didn’t really resent having been forced to take dance lessons for Bobby and Ellen’s wedding.

 

“What if we were partners.”

Cas looked a little startled and had cocked his head in curiosity.

“If-if we were partners, then we’d have a full view of the room at all times – we’d be looking over each others’ shoulders and catch whatever the other was unable to see. Not to mention we’d be able to communicate the whole time. Point people out and stuff.”

“It’s not traditional.” Dean’s sure his heart stops beating and he’s going to keel over – “But it works,” he reaches down and clasps Dean’s hand, leading him out to the ballroom floor.

They duck into one of the few open spaces left in the twirling, orderly, formation of circling couples.

Dean was sure he recognized the music now – something light and airy that consisted primarily of flutes and violins with the high-pitched plucking of a harp accenting every now and then. It lasted just long enough for Castiel to lead him out onto the dance floor and for them to swing into long, trailing swirls as they got their bearing, as if the piece were announcing their arrival to the melee.

 

They danced through piece after piece of music – tempo, and participating instruments, and tune all in constant entropy. But it was beautiful and Dean ate it up like a buffet of sweets; marzipan, coffee, ginger, candy, and chocolate. Each step a new flavor.  He could barely keep up – especially when the tunes reached impossible speeds and he ended each song wholly supported by Cas, and panting heavily.

 

Cas had easily helped Dean find the correct positioning and, with some heavy reliance on memory, Dean fell into the rhythm.

The music sprung into high speed but when it faded back down Dean commented, “I don’t think non-traditional is going to be a problem,” he nods his head at something a little to Cas’s left and when the angel spares a glance he sees two more same-sex fae couples out on the floor as well.

 

Before Dean knew it, the tune had progressed and was garnished with castanets. Then the castanets were usurped by clarinets and Dean’s fumbling steps at the unfamiliar tempo were covered by Castiel gracefully picking up the lead.

 

 

Dean loses focus on the memories when Sam shifts on the bed and a loud creak pierces the room. Sam hasn’t woken up but he fidgets for a moment before a silence settles back over the room.   
Dean lets out a breath he must have been holding and looks back out the window.

He closes his eyes again and it’s as though he’s reliving every moment:

 

Dean is glad of Cas’s direction when a bright and bobbing pace carried wholly by flutes insinuates itself into the dance and is tailed by a fast-paced Russian piece.

Breathless and giddy, Castiel somehow manage to seamlessly transition into following whatever ordered steps the flutes are leading him to take. The song makes Dean feel like he should be on tip toe and performing delicate, jerky motions. But under Castiel’s direction their steps synchronize into the absolute picture of fluidity.

Once the pace has turned back to something processional and near jovial, Cas’s smile falls the smallest fraction. The tempo elicits images of children running about frantically between hiding in their mother’s skirts and exploring novel sights around them, and Dean is reminded of their first day in the marketplace, but Cas has become re-absorbed in his attentiveness to the crowd.

At a lull in the music, he comments to Dean, “I’m beginning to doubt whether or not she’ll show up before the end of the evening.”

Before Dean can respond, Cas’s attention is divided evenly between their motions and the crowd and Dean has to focus on his steps to keep up. In the back of his mind, he finds that the harps and trumpets make him think of a blooming garden and dawn.

As they waltz, Dean catches sight of Sammy and Dean flashes the younger boy a smile – Sam’s eyes widened in response in what could only be described as shock.

A few steps into the next dance Cas dons a puzzled expression.

“ _Tarantella_ ,” Cas murmurs.

“What?” Dean whispers.

“They’re playing it out of order.”

“Good or bad?”

“I’m not sure.” Cas’s tone is unreadable, but disconcerting nonetheless. “There are four more songs in the set – for more chances for her to appear. Though she’s unlikely to do so before the final number.”

The piece is over as quickly as it had begun.

“Then let’s make the most of the time we’ve got left to kill,” Dean grins.

In the moment before the next tune starts up, a challenging gleam sets in Cas’s eye and a wisp of a smirk settles in the corner of his mouth.

They are little more than two bodies in continuous motion, unified by hands and eyes through a series of matching steps. Dean feels tangled in all of the string instruments – the harp’s lilting ;  the push and pull of the violins drawing them through their path, a rushing and receding of invisible tides.

The upsurge is such a natural progression that it takes Dean off guard but he’s already far too caught up in it – too wrapped up in Cas and their steps and the music to do anything but move and spin and be dipped and swung and he feels like he’s stopped breathing. The fluttering of the drums rivals the beating in his veins. There is only motion and the air between himself and Castiel.

The silence at the close of the piece makes it obvious how loudly they’re panting but that and Cas’s eyes above him are the only things Dean finds himself focusing on. It’s when he swallows harshly that he realizes how off-balance he feels, and that he’s being held mid-dip. A flush colors Cas’s cheeks the moment Dean feels one spring to his own face. Cas leans him back up so Dean can only presume that the angel had come to the same realization as him.

 

 

Another restless motion from Sam has the bed brings him back to himself. Without the memories being so visceral, he resorts to objectivity.

Dean thinks now that Cas might’ve said something had the silence of that moment lingered, but the orchestra had begun a lilting tune and they’d gone back into the motions of the dance.

Cas seemed fixated on Dean’s face until he blinked and –

He cocked his head as if to hear the music better. His face pulled tight in recognition and his head jerked left then right, “They’ve skipped the other songs. This is it. Either she makes her entrance before the end of the song or she’s skipped her visit to the capitol this year.”

Dean could hear the concern in Cas’s tone at the idea.

This dance was like a dream sequence. Tempered and suspenseful it fit perfectly with their goal of seeking out the fairy. _Theme music_ , Dean thinks. Nimbly they shifted among the bodies, popping up and down, ducking and swerving in perfect, coincidental timing with the chimes.

It seemed drawn out to Dean, and had murmured something about it going on far longer than it normally should. That almost gives them hope. But as the song had built, their stomachs clenched and the abrupt, uncharacteristic crescendo caught them by surprise. They lurched to a halt as all the other couples fell still with poise and clapped elegantly.

They swept the room visually until they were one of the few remaining couples on the floor and Sam had made his way over to them. The disappointment hung heavily over the three of them as they made their way back to their lodging. 

  
 

With their last hope plucked from the realm of possibility, the troupe wearily packed small bags of supplies and set off searching the list of places they’d acquired. They quickly began crossing it off, but not for the reasons they’d hoped. No one could help them. The places they visited were empty of magic and few of them had trails or leads to other clues.

However, the exploring itself had been thrilling. The species and sights they came across were unimaginable and unforgettable. They ran into beasts from myths they’d heard back home as well. Sam went nuts over those and every time begged to speak with them. Cas acted as translator for most interactions but it was with a smile and an air of happiness at providing such elation to the young boy.

It was also while they were exploring that the three of them really got to know each other. Dean thinks that Cas had seemed more alive than ever down there. Possibly it was familiarity with location and larger form that gave way to the freer mannerisms he’d begun using.

They spent three months in the land, seeking out the elusive queen.

Oceans of grass, mystically foggy moors, enchanted gardens, shrouded forests, oases upon sandy beaches; all were explored, but none yielded any information about the whereabouts of the Sugarplum fairy.

The nights not whiled away in front of an inn’s hearth were spent beneath the stars next to an open fire. Dean reveled in the luxury of having these two people so close to him all the time and getting to watch Sam thrive in this land of adventure. They learned things the two of them could have never dreamed of otherwise. It warmed him to watch Cas explore humans and he etched the angel’s curious and understanding facial expressions into his mind. There was no end to the on-edge sense of suspense and excitement until the sunset came.

And each night under the stars, he would run through these thoughts before falling asleep to the near ethereal sight of Cas, wrapped in his own wings two feet away, on his back looking up into the sparkling void.

 

After they got to the end of the list they just went wherever promising looking roads took them. If they met travelers or came across fae, they asked and gleaned what they could, but there wasn’t a lot of information they hadn’t already heard or investigated.

They only returned when Cas had mentioned how late (or rather early) it was getting for them and that he feared for his ability to return them to their world as morning approached and his magic dwindled.

 

 

Three months. Three months of memorizing mannerisms, of almost constant exposure to an endearing baritone, of a uniquely angelic brand of sarcasm, of daily waking to his two favorite, beaming smiles. And only an hour and a half has passed here.

Dean looks now to his bed where Sam is sprawled, one hand covering Cas’s legs where the angel had rested cradled between the brothers. He’d reverted once more to his nutcracker form upon their return to this world. Dean doesn’t know how long they’ve been home but he already misses the sparkling vibrancy everything there held, the sense of adventure around every corner, the purpose behind all of their actions – everything was something that could lead them to the Sugarplum Fairy.

A gnawing sense of disappointment finds a foothold in the pit of Dean’s stomach. He wishes more than anything that they could have helped their friend. But nothing had come of their adventure.

 

Nothing, of course, but the making of the best friend Dean had ever had.

 

 


	8. The Power

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A warning: The picture towards the end of this chapter is graphic but it's prefaced by a description of the surrounding circumstances

 

 

Dean had worried that he’d miss the human-sized visage he’d grown used to for the past three months, but there was no sense of absence. He woke up, tucked Cas in the pocket of his robe and went down to eat breakfast. Jo and Adam are at the table with John, who is reading the paper.

“But how many _minutes?”_ Adam demands.

“Well it’s close to thirty nine hours and there’s sixty minutes in an hour,” Jo concentrates on pouring syrup over her pancakes.

“I don’t know how many that is!”

Jo sighs and shoves a bite of pancake into her mouth, “It’s a lot.”

“Mouth closed with food, Jo. You’re gonna teach him bad manners,” John says from behind the open page.

“Nuh-uh. I already learned how to eat from Dean.”

“My apologies, Jo. It looks like he was already a lost cause,” he jibes.

“Oh, just go ahead and blame me,” Dean says to Adam. The young boy sticks his tongue out.

“What’re we counting?” Dean asks Jo as he serves himself.

“How long until Santa gets here!” Adam slams his fork-wielding fist on the table to emphasize the importance.

“Which reminds me, I gotta go finish wrapping. C’mon champ, let’s go get you un-stickyfied.”

“Thank you, Jo. I’ll get the dishes since you’re taking care of the walking flypaper.”

“Thanks, Uncle John.”

He takes one last sip of his coffee before folding the paper and standing to carry all the empty plates and utensils to the kitchen.

As soon as they’re gone, Dean takes Cas out and sets him on the table by his glass of milk. Sam chooses the same time to make his entrance to the dining room.

“Morning,” he yawns.

“Morning.”

He pulls out a chair and starts serving himself, “Is it weird that I expected candied nuts or strudel?”

Dean smiles, “Nah. I think it’s weird that I _didn’t_ expect Cas to be life sized when I woke up.”

Sam swallows a bite of pancake, “I’m going to miss exploring.”

“Yeah, I’m not sure what I’ll do with myself today. I feel like I’ve got so much more time and nothing to do with it. No fae to look for, no forest to wander, no centaurs to chat up.”

“No Sugarplum fairy to search for,” Sam says. That one leaves them both silent.

“I’m just glad we’re done with the whole Rat King business,” Dean finally offers.

“Rat King?” Their father re-enters the room with a fresh mug of coffee, and he takes a seat.

Dean laughs and pretends to think that his silence on the matter will end the discussion. He forks another bite of pancake into his mouth. Sam's eyes widen tellingly but he focuses on the plate of food before him. John, however, notes the suspicious behavior. And his eyes narrow as he appears to mentally go over what he must have heard through the kitchen door.

"What were you boys talking about?"

"Nothing, really."

"No, no you definitely said something about exploring."

When both boys are silent - trying desperately to think of an excuse - John’s face hardens in suspicion.

The moment Dean constructs a plausible explanation - _a fairytale dad, it’s just a fairytale -_ John levels them with an accusation; “Have you boys been sneaking out after dark?”

“What? No!”

“No way!”

But obviously their responses are too fast and sound false. “Boys, what were you thinking? What would happen if your mother or I woke up and couldn’t find you? Not to mention the possibility of you all getting lost and freezing to death.”

Dean and Sam are both at a loss and they exchanged panicked glances which John takes for guilty ones.

“I’m afraid there are going to be consequ-”

“Dad we never left the house!” John turns his glare full force at being interrupted but Dean is trying to stop this train before it gets any further even if it means barreling ahead on his own crazy train.

“I-I mean, we were exploring, but we never left the house. If you don’t believe me go check the hall - none of our shoes or coats are even wet.”

“What’s really going on here, Dean?”

Dean looks at Sam and at the proof sitting on the table next to his cup. When he makes eye contact with John again, it’s as if some ungodly force has possessed his mouth and he spills his guts. Every last word of truth from the days since the Christmas party comes out in a coherent, fantastical summary. Dean has never wished more for the inclination to speak in a stuttering jumble. He thankfully manages to leave out Chuck’s story – he doesn’t know what kind of fight that would cause between the adults. When he finishes, Sam is staring wide-eyed and John watches him blank-faced and Dean just wants to swallow his tongue.

John looks like he’s trying to see this as amusing but Dean went and had to sound so convinced – so _convincing_. “Dean you’re too old for this.”

“Dad-“

“He’s telling the truth!” Sam blurts.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Sam.”

Dean tries to stop him, “Sam, you don’t-“

“No, it’s the truth! We can prove it!”

He stretches his arm across the table and picks up Cas. When he can’t pull the knife from the angel’s unnatural grip, he holds it up to John. “See? That’s my new action figure’s knife! And it isn’t coming free because we didn’t put it there. Cas fell asleep holding it! You can still see blood on it from where he had to fight a few rats last night. And he’s got the tablet in his jacket. Tonight when he wakes up –“

“That’s really enough Sam.” John crosses his arms and inclines his head towards the nutcracker, “If you keep this up I’ll take those collectibles from you Sam. You shouldn’t be playing with them or putting paint on them.”

“But – “

“And as for the rats,” John looks annoyed at being interrupted with further protest, “well, after Christmas we’ll get an exterminator out here. Now I don’t want to hear another word about this. It’s bad enough that you’ve got Sam doing it, Dean, but if Adam starts making up any stories, there _will_ be consequences.” John turns to pick up his coffee but Sam stands up from his chair and blocks his path back into the kitchen.

“Dad you have to listen! You’ve got to believe us!”

John actually scowls for the first time in this conversation, “No, I don’t. Now I will not have either of you speaking of these dreams or games or whatever they may be any more.” He looks between the two of them, “Do I make myself clear?”

Dean shoots Sam a look. “Yes,” They reply in unison, maintaining eye contact with each other.

 

As soon as John’s gone from the room, Sam turns, mouth open to say something but Dean cuts him off, “Drop it, Sammy.”  
His dad just lectured him like he’d let Sam get carried away with finger painting and the living room had become a mess. He’s obviously lost face and a little standing as an adult. And he sort of has, because, really? Demons? Magic? It does sound like a dream or a story they made up. Dean pretty much blew it and there’s no two ways about it, no matter what his brother is going to say. Only this time the punishment is less likely to be scrubbing paint out of the carpet and more likely to be a loss of car privileges.

 

Sam spends the day looking for other clues and proof but Dean just resolutely tucks Cas in the coat of his pocket, always touching him somehow, all day long. He hangs out with Jo and drives around for a while, talking to Cas the whole time and thinking stuff out.

Like how in three months and four days he’s made the best friend of his life.

Like how he never wants to go anywhere without Cas in his pocket, or - after their adventure - by his side.

Like how he was too preoccupied with talking to Cas to flirt with any of the gorgeously unattainable fae or other humanoid creatures they encountered.

And how just this morning he ignored the call he got from Cassie and both calls he got from Lisa.

And how the last time he thought of Benny was when he was talking with Cas about it, in the kitchen, and for once he didn’t feel bad about himself while doing so.

Or how Cas was the best listener, and really smart, and gave great advice. Dean always felt understood with those baby-blues trained on him when he spoke. And sure, sometimes he blushed from Cas’s attention, and found himself watching Cas’s lips when the angel was talking, and just enjoyed watching Cas as the wind tousled his hair, and …

And _fuck_ , this was all totally nuts.

 

Dean makes another loop around the block and heads back home, blaring Christmas music all the way.

 

Sam comes up to him that evening looking serious.

“Dean we’ve gotta talk about this at some point.”

“Sam, there’s nothing to talk about, either they send me to the looney bin or they don’t. We’ll see Cas tonight and for now you should just go set the table while I help mom finish dinner.”

Sam gives Dean his best concerned-bitchface but takes the suggestion.

 

 

The boys begin to worry when Cas doesn’t wake up at the usual time. But when it happens, they don’t get much chance to think about it.  
Sam is gone to the bathroom when Cas comes to but before either the angel or Dean can say anything, Sam bursts back into the room; “Guys! You’ve got to come now! Crowley’s back and there’s a battle going on downstairs.”

Dean snatches Cas up off the bed and the three of them descend the stairs as fast and quietly as they can. They arrive to find the living room in chaos. The toys have rallied once more and are fighting hand to hand with the rats. Weapons are strewn about, and even the bent – or in some cases broken – toys continue to do their part. Dean has enough presence of mind to shut the door quickly so the sounds don’t wake the rest of the house – that would just be too much and with magic involved, they don’t need to put anyone else in danger. But in doing so, he gives Cas the opportunity to jump from his shoulder and rush into the melee.

“Cas!” Sam calls after him but the nutcracker doesn’t heed him. He draws his angel blade and then the boys lose sight of him.

“Come on!” Sam says, intent on doing his part to help win the battle but before he can even take a full step, Dean shoves him back towards the corner and moves protectively in front of him.

“Dean! What the hell-?!”

His exclamation is cut off by loud growling and a few feet away from them prowls the three puppy sized hell hounds.

“The mark’s still protecting me. They can’t get us as long as you stay behind me.”

The brothers look on, frustrated and helpless as the battle rages and they can do nothing but act as bait to distract the hell beasts from injuring toys. They watch as soldiers, dolls, stuffed animals, and rats alike wrestle and become chipped and marred, some edging dangerously close to the fire.

A cry snaps their attention to the mantle where stockings hang anticipating Christmas Eve. Around picture frames and candle holders, in and out of decorative stocking hangers duck two figures in a one-on-one battle. Sam gasps when he makes out a gold and silver flash of metal in the firelight off of a crown and a knife.

“Cas,” Dean breathes, barely audible.

Neither dueler has ceased motion since the brothers caught sight of them. They teeter along a narrow path between the front edge of some frames and the long drop to the wood floor below. Crowley leaps around a candle holder and hesitates when he lands awkwardly. He spins too slowly and the nutcracker swipes at him, but the Rat King ducks beneath a picture frame stand and then reverses to tackle Cas.

“Cas!” Dean calls out.

The two figures are a tangle of limbs and glinting metal – for a moment, Dean fears they’ll fall into the fire – until Cas draws himself to his knees, pulling Crowley with him, raring his knife wielding hand then plunging it deep into the Rat King’s chest.

It seems as if the whole room stills. All the creatures focused on the leaders’ prize fight or mid-strike against their own adversaries.

The angel pushes the corpse away from himself and without meaning to, send it sailing towards the ground. The fall seems to take a motionless eternity but it leaves only just enough time for the fair-weather demonic soldiers to scamper back to the mouse-hole.

Cas stands heaving labored breaths, looking at the smear of blood left in front of him on the mantle. The rest of the rats have begun to flee to the hole and the toys have taken to cheering and clapping.

As soon as the hell hounds leave, Dean scrambles over to his friend, “Cas, Cas – buddy. You okay?”

“I am … fine. I believe I’m more than fine.” He looks up at Dean with relief written across his face.

“Good riddance,” Sam says from behind him.

Dean looks over his shoulder to see Sam picking up the king by his tail and pausing in disgust before tossing him into the fire. He sparks and burns at the first lick of flames as if he was returning to the fires of Hell from whence he came.

Sam bends back down and picks up the crown from the floor. He turns it over in his hand then pockets it before approaching his brother and gazing up at where Cas still stands on the mantle.

Dean glances to the clock then back to Cas, who stands at his eye level. “We’ve got some time left before you have to go. Do you just want to sit down here?”

Cas grimaces, “Yes, that would be good.” He moves to mount Dean’s shoulder and as Dean walks past the grandfather clock he realizes something. “Stop!”

“What?”

Cas winces as he stands, “The portal needs to be closed.”

Dean sets him on the ground. Cas withdraws the tablet from his jacket and takes a deep breath, closing his eyes. The angel starts chanting in the same language he’d used to widen it. Dean feels the tingling of Cas drawing from his soul again. The tablet chip glows faintly and when Cas stops chanting it flares and the portal begins to close.

 

Dean brings Cas back up to his shoulder and they cross the room carefully. The toys have begun to retire to the cabinet as the three of them sit on the couch. Uncle Chuck will fix the damaged ones tomorrow.

 

Sam wiggles around to get comfortable, having wedged himself between Dean and the corner of the couch. He leans into Dean’s side and looks down at Cas, “Do you know why you woke up so much later than normal?”

Cas grimaces again. “Do you recall how I told you I was drawing power from your presence?” The boys nod. “That much is true, but it would seem that only my supernatural abilities are fueled by your souls and faith. My wakefulness is not.”

“Oh?” Dean asks, nervousness lacing his voice.

He sighs and looks down, “Keeping track of time has not always been something I’ve had the opportunity of doing. I have recently discovered though, that my sentience is seasonal. Specifically in relation to Christmas.  
“This was revealed to me during our journey, near the end. One night I had stepped outside when I thought I’d heard a noise and found myself being approached by a figure on the road. When he got close enough for me to make out his features I realized it was the prophet Tran.  
“I was actually intending to send for him but apparently he found it necessary to come to me first. And it wasn’t in regards to the Sugarplum Fairy. He explained that he’d had a vision of me and a revelation about my condition and had taken it upon himself to find me to tell me in case we were unable to find the Sugarplum Fairy. He’d been searching after her for years but unable to come up with anything.  
“He kindly gave me his condolences and provided me with a description of her; tall, friendly, redheaded, likely to be either in full knight’s garb or exquisite ‘and fluffy’ court attire. He was emphatic about the fluffiness.”

The words hang hollowly in the bewildered silence.

“So that means…?”

“It means that I will more than likely be unable to come to life after Christmas eve, when the magic crescendos.”

“Like, at all?” Sam asks.

Cas nods as if he feel guilty for not knowing any of this.

They sit silently. The fire crackles in the background and the hushed, faraway voices of the toys settling in for the night only tug at the thought of what will not be there in the future.

 

“The seasonal thing … does that mean you’ll be back next year?”

“I don’t know. I am unsure of the parameters of the spell or even how many times I’ve been sentient. It could be anything from a pattern of every other year, to a fifteen year cycle. For all I know this could be the last year it happens.”

“What, like some _Beauty and the Beast_ bull?”

Cas shrugs.

It puts a rock in Dean’s gut. He doesn’t like this. He can’t even think about how much he really doesn’t want Cas to go away and not come back.  
He turns to his younger brother who looks utterly forlorn.

Dean sees an out to the oppressive atmosphere. “You know, Sammy used to be obsessed with that movie. Drove me nuts singing all the songs. A real Belle, that kid.”

“Hey! I related. She’s basically the princess of reading.”

“No, that’d be you.”

The tactic successfully brings their conversation to other, lighter topics. They spend the remaining hours with Cas bantering and telling stories until Sammy crashes.

Dean carries him back upstairs, with Cas tucked in his robe pocket again. Dean puts Sam into the kid’s own bed and heads downstairs to sit in the fading firelight talking with Cas.

 

Pre-dawn light in the still dark sky cuts Cas off mid-sentence. Dean stares at his painted face and can’t bring himself to go upstairs. 

 

Tomorrow evening will be their last night.

 

And he’s going to have to spend the rest of tonight trying to trample and uproot feelings he’s spent three months and five days unwittingly growing.

 

 


	9. The Last Night

 

 

Dean tries his best but ultimately fails at not being a downer.

The trampling didn’t go as planned. It only made him think more deeply about it all and forced him to confront and admit his feelings for Cas. His romantic feelings.

They felt heavy and too big but Dean didn’t see any way around them. So he sat lamenting what was being taken from him before he had a chance to have it. He was going to sorely miss Cas’s friendship.

 

The heavy clouds they wake up to that morning promise a white Christmas tomorrow. Mary hums the Bing Crosby song as if that alone can bring the forecast to fruition. Adam jumps around her legs while she makes breakfast, hollering about watching all the Christmas movies he’s already seen twice this season, “Just one more time!”

Sam and Jo cart him away after breakfast to fulfill his whims. Dean makes some hot cocoa and grabs a tin of Ellen’s peppermint popcorn then follows them upstairs.

He tries to lose himself in the holiday feel of it all, and even lets Adam sit in his lap as a bigger distraction but there’s still a knot of loss gnawing at him.

He keeps up a semblance of a mask and Adam provides thorough distraction for Sam to be jovial and for neither of his parents to notice his mood. Or at least they don’t comment on it. And really Dean’s just as excited as the rest of them. All the people he considers family are here and Dean can’t wait to reveal the gifts he’s giving everyone.

But he’s only just come to terms with his feelings for Cas and the guy has to leave tonight, maybe forever.

 

The day passes and before they know it, Dean and Sam are sitting on the couch in front of a roaring fire. The wind howls outside and the house felt unusually cold so Dean had spent part of the indeterminate time they’d be waiting on Cas building the fire.

He’s stoking it when the angel wakes.

“Dean,” his brother says, and Dean turns to see Cas sitting up in Sam’s hands.

The angel looks to the grandfather clock. He frowns, “I’m awake earlier than usual so I don’t think I’ll last very late. I doubt we’ll have the usual amount of time either.”

“Then I’m going to go ahead and head out,” Sam says. “I just wanted to be sure I got to say bye to you.”

Cas smiles and gives Sam’s hand a shake as best he can, in mock of their initial meeting which feels so long ago, now.

Sam gives his older brother a _look_ and Dean’s gut drops. But all Sam does is walk to the door and offer one last “goodnight.” That confirms the motive behind Sam’s earlier behavior. Sam had hinted at wanting to give the two of them time alone but hadn’t said much more than that.

 

Dean gingerly scoops Cas up and sits at the end of the couch.

“So I guess this is the end of the line.”

“It would seem that way.”

They pause, meeting each other’s gaze evenly.

Dean wants to say something. Something about –

“Look me up if you’re right about the fifteen years thing.” He interrupts his own train of thought, “I’m an inspirational guy so there will probably be a lot of Dean Winchesters by that point, but I’ll be the fabulously rich old man fighting off girls with my cane.”

“And of course your car will be a dead giveaway.”

“You know it.”

Dean fights to find the words he wants.

Cas beats him to the punch.

“I’m afraid of going.”

Dean’s heart breaks a little more, “I don’t want you to leave.”

“I don’t want to leave you.”

Dean moves Cas up to sit on the arm of the couch and rests his own head on it so that he’s looking at the nutcracker.

“I’m going to miss you, man. I mean - … I’m going to miss you.”

“I already do,” Cas smiles sadly, “I’m afraid I won’t be able to miss you.”

Dean reaches up to brush a thumb over the side of his face. The vision seems disproportioned but the motion is tender. Cas raises his hand up to cover what he can of Dean’s thumb and hold it in place, leaning bodily into the touch.

“Shit, we’re making this harder than it already is.”

 

They talk.

The conversation is interspersed with comfortable silences. Their words attempt to soften the blow that the separation is going to bring.

 

“I wish I had more time. There are things …. There is so much that I want to express.”

Dean can barely nod his head to agree though inside he is screaming that ‘Yes! That is exactly how I feel! Please, _please_ , express those things for me!’

But Cas only looks helplessly at him.

 

In the end, he can’t actually bring himself to say anything.

He looks up at the clock, and, afraid this might be his last chance, he sits up and pulls Cas into a gripping hug, as best he can. The angel buries his face in the crook of Dean’s neck and hangs on for dear life as the clock begins to strike midnight. They both pull away and Cas loses sentience at the twelfth stroke.

Dean sits motionless for a long while just staring at the figure in his hands.

Eventually he brings himself to lie down on the couch, looking into the angel’s painted face, thinking about all the wondrous things that have happened to him because of this, his lifeless best friend.

And he promptly proceeds to spill his guts.

“God, why didn’t I say anything? Who am I kidding? I know exactly why. I’m a wimp. I was so fucking terrified that it would just make everything about this more awful. But fuck, if _this_ doesn’t feel worse.

“You’re breaking my heart, man. Your whole story does really. You try and help someone you don’t even know ‘cause that’s the sorry kind of bastard you are. And what do you get? Turned into a toy and abandoned,” he sniffs and gives a sad laugh, “and then stuck with me for a friend.” He wipes at his eye before a tear can escape.

“I can’t even see how she – how _anyone_ could do that to you. If you were ever, really … real, I’d … No one would … If I’d have been there you wouldn’t …” Dean searches the frozen face and manages to choke out, “I wouldn’t treat you that way.” He pauses as if he were waiting on himself or, or on _something_. Dean swallows and laughs at himself and their situation, “I’d probably be able to love you no matter what your ugly mug looked like.”

Then in a moment of exceptional exhaustion and emotion, he lets his heavy eyelids fall closed as he presses a kiss to the painted forehead and whispers “I need you.”

Dean drifts off with these words on his lips.

 

 

 

From a perch unseen atop the clock tower sits a shimmering fleck of beauty that radiates satisfaction. She tosses the crown she holds into the air – _her_ crown – simply because she can. Because she’s free to.  
She’s just glad it was so easy to pinch from Sam’s pocket. Although it still smells a little like demon. Then again, so does she. Get imprisoned in a clock face with the same rat guards for a lengthy period of time and it’s kind of hard to get rid of it.

She looks down upon the festive living room carrying the silent stillness of a sleeping body. A tremor of glee passes through her, and her wings shiver with all the space she’s now afforded.   
True love.   
Just the catalyst the little nutcracker angel needed for her magic to have an effect. A wave of her hand, a dusting of magic, and a kiss on each forehead to seal the spell should do the trick.

She cracks her knuckles and fluffs her skirt, and for the first time in a long while, she lets a genuine smile grace her features. 

 

 


	10. The First Christmas

 

 

“Merry Christmas!”

Dean’s eyes shoot open at the shouting and he finds Adam gripping both sides of his face and beaming down at him.

“Santa came last night, Dean! Did you sleep out here? Did you see him come in? Did he eat all the cookies? How’d he like them? Were mine his favorite?”

“Wha-?”

“Merry Christmas, Dean.” Jo comes over and scoops Adam up, and off of his brother, “And Merry Christmas to you too, Adam.”

“What time is it?” Dean asks groggily.

“Almost nine. The grownups will be downstairs in a minute. Sam too, I guess.”

“Goodmorning, guys.”

“Merry Christmas, Sammy!” Adam shrieks.

“Merry Christmas,” he returns.

But Dean is distracted. He looks at his lap and then his hands. Something is missing.

“Cas!”

Three heads turn to him in surprise.

“Cas, he’s gone.” He scrambles around, searching the floor and between the cushions.

“Cas?” Jo hefts Adam in her arms.

“The nutcracker,” Sam explains, “Dean-“

“No, he was right here when I went to sleep and now he’s missing!” Dean is frantic.

Sam gets down and starts to help search.

“Me too, I’ll help too.” Adam squirms in Jo’s grip until she puts him down and the four children begin to scour the room for the nutcracker.

They all jump when three raps sound at the front door.

Four sets of eyes peer out through the open living room doorway. The adults have just reached the bottom of the stairs but Chuck is missing from the group. Mary and John glance at each other and make their way to the foyer.

Sam continues searching but Dean is curious and finds himself compelled to know who is at their door at nine am on Christmas morning.

 

He hears Uncle Chuck’s voice before he can see him and it isn’t until after he’s stepped between his parents at the threshold that he realizes there’s a second figure standing on the porch.

 “... my nephew, Castiel.”

Nope, nuh-uh, no way. Dean’s outta here. He’s had enough crazy for one week thank you.

Except…

“I uh, just brought him back from the airport. He called me this morning to tell me he’d come to town.” Chuck winks at Dean as he says this. For a moment Dean wonders if he’s imagined the gesture.

He turns to give the other boy his undivided scrutiny. Soft flesh and big, wet doe-eyes are paired with a gummy smile and a nose red from the cold winter air. Dean’s jaw hangs open at the beautiful boy before him – the spitting image of his nutcracker incarnate.

That is, if the nutcracker were dressed in an ill-fitting trench coat and hadn’t borne wings.

 

“Oh, come in out of the snow.”

“It just started when we drove up.”

John has to nudge the shell-shocked Dean out of the entryway so that the two men can step inside. They shed their coats and the beautiful boy turns, brushing white, fluffy flakes from his windswept hair.

He extends his hand with a shy smile, “Castiel. I believe we’ve met before.”

Dean reaches out with his own and shakes it, “Have we?” And why does he sound so breathless?

The adults make their way to the kitchen saying something about coffee, leaving the boys in the entryway.

“Yes. I’m afraid I look much different now from when you last saw me. However,” he leans in conspiratorially and Dean sees a glint in his eye, “I recall you saying something about loving me no matter what my ugly mug looked like.”

Dean’s eyes widen and his jaw drops open again, “You heard-?!”

Cas’s smile grows hopeful, and Dean can’t take it. He reaches out, cupping the other boy’s face in both hands and draws him in for a heartfelt kiss.

They pull away gasping but rest their foreheads together.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” Cas murmurs. Dean’s eyes are closed, savoring the moment, but he hears the smile in Cas’s voice.

“Don’t ever stop,” Dean says, sap that he is.

Cas leans forward and they’re kissing again.

“Oh!”

They pull away, jerking their heads to face a surprised-looking Sam and Jo.

“Who’s your friend, Dean?”

“Uh, Cas, this is Jo and Sam. You already know Sam.”  
Sam’s eyes bug out of his head and a wondrous grin pastes itself on his face.

“Merry Christmas,” Cas offers.

“Cas? As in the same name as your nutcracker, Cas?” Jo asks accusingly.

Dean scoffs, “Don’t be ridiculous Jo,” Dean winks at Sam so that Jo can’t see it but he can’t help his smile.

“Uh-huh. And what’s the big idea leaving us to search for it?”

“Don’t worry, Jo, he’s sure to turn up somewhere. C’mon, Adam isn’t going to wait on us to open presents.” He reaches down to hold Cas’s hand and leads the way to the living room.

Sam is beaming and he trots happily after them, practically hanging off of Cas’s arm by the time they reach the rest of the group.

Jo just stands back watching, and feels as if she’s missing something, but she can’t quite place what it could be.

 

The brothers settle at the foot of the tree, bracketing their companion. The presents are opened in a steady stream, Dean tucked into Castiel’s side the entire time. Jo and all of the adults except for Chuck watch the trio with an air of bewilderment, but the morning carries on with as much festivity as ever. At one point, Adam resolutely tells Castiel that he looks like an angel before refocusing on the toy in Cas’s hands.

 

Chuck gets up to fetch himself coffee and Dean takes the opportunity to pull him aside.

“Uncle Chuck?” he calls. The man looks up with wide eyes, and Dean meets him halfway back to the living room from the kitchen. “What’s going on?”

“What do you mean?”

“Cas; how is he here?”

“You’ve met him before, haven’t you? He said you had.”  

“Um, yeah, actually. But-”

“He’d been having some trouble back home but made his way here.”

Dean disregards how true that statement actually is.  
“But, I mean … _how?!”_

Chuck smiles enigmatically, holding the moment captive, “There were probably some external forces involved, but … I presume you know the power of love and the effects it bears on spells.”

“...That’s like **true** love. And it’s in fairy tales.” Dean ignores the blatant hypocrisy of that dissent, given how he’s spent the last week.

Chuck shrugs and Dean swears his godfather must be a descendant of Mona Lisa with that smug grin. “You said it, not me.”  
He says it like he knows exactly what’s gone on these past few days.

Honestly? Dean wouldn’t put it past him.

Chuck leaves his godson standing befuddled and solitary in the hall.

The eldest Winchester boy shakes his head and watches Chuck sit by the fire and lift an insistent Adam into his lap. The young boy says something and his godfather laughs. Dean surveys the rest of the room, watching as his family enjoys Christmas morning. Bobby and Mary drink eggnog coffee. John helps Jo assemble one of her gifts. Ellen unwraps one of her last presents. Sam and Cas sit on the floor talking avidly about the book in Sam’s hand.

Cas looks up and when they make eye contact, Dean could swear that his eyes actually fucking _twinkle_. Cas murmurs something to Sam before standing and coming out to where Dean gawks outside the doorway.

“Hey,” Dean says.

Cas smiles, and lurches forward but stops himself, “Am I allowed to kiss you right now?”

Dean blushes and pulls Cas forward, muttering a “Yes” against his lips before kissing him soundly. Dean leans back and searches Castiel’s face.

“Is something the matter?”

“No, no. Everything’s fine,” Dean assures him. “But uh … what happened this morning? After I fell asleep?”

Cas’s face contorts and he shrugs a very small shrug. “I’m not sure really. I remember waking up - corporeal and sitting on the floor. The quiet was nice and you’re captivatingly peaceful when you sleep.” Cas lets a soft smile onto his face, then he continues. “Your Uncle Chuck came down what I assume was a few hours later, and made some noise in the kitchen. The clock must have been chiming but I wasn’t really paying attention to it.”  
_Because he was paying attention to me_ , Dean thinks, flushing.

“He found me watching you,” Cas says flatly.

“Wait, what? What’d he do?”

“He asked me if I was hungry.”

_What?_

“What?”

“He asked me if I was hungry. Then he took me to the kitchen and gave me some food. He also knew my name, which was odd but nice.”

“He knew your-?” Dean looks into the living room again but Chuck is still focused on Adam. He turns back to Cas, “Then what?”

“He left me in the kitchen to finish eating and I heard him moving around in the living room. I suppose he must have been contributing to the Christmas morning setup. When he came back, he drank coffee while I finished eating and then he took me up to your room, gave me some of your clothes and told me to change.”

Dean looks down at Cas’s chest and realizes that _oh yeah, that shirt does look familiar._

“When I reemerged, he handed me his spare coat and took me outside saying something about other people setting up presents. I can assume he meant your parents.”

“How long were you guys standing out there freezing your asses off?”

“Oh, not long. We walked to a ‘convenience store’ which was rather warm. It was interesting, I’d never seen anything like it. When he thought the owner was getting annoyed with us, we left and went looking at Christmas decorations in the park as we made our way back here.”

“Huh.” Dean has gone back to watching his godfather, who surely must feel the weight of a gaze on him, but doesn’t react to it at all. Cas follows his line of sight.

“I’m glad he likes me.”  
The boys refocus on each other at Cas’s words.  
“He told me he likes me and that he’s very glad I get a happy ending.”

Dean lets one corner of his mouth pull up into a slow half smile, “No kidding?”

Cas shakes his head and this time the smile sits in his eyes, because his mouth is preoccupied with kissing Dean.

“Me too,” Dean says when they separate.

“You know … on our walk back, I was more than a little concerned that we’d be intruding. Or, that I would, at least.”

“Nah, you’re fine. Sammy and I like having you around. Besides, you’re family now.”

A smile slips onto Cas’s face. “Thank you. This is certainly the nicest family I’ve been allowed to be called part of.”

That gives Dean pause. “You, uh. You ever gonna go back? To your – the angels?” he asks, suddenly confronted with a very probable, very worrisome line of thought.

Cas just looks at him knowingly, “You’ll find that when I have the freedom to, I prefer keeping to places where I have a home.”

Cas tugs his hand and leads him into the living room.

Dean thinks that in this case, it’s already been decided where Cas belongs. And he’s more than happy that it gets to be with him.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Exits are to your left, your right, and your rear, restrooms are to the front, Kudos and comments are found below, and as always very appreciated. Thank you for flying Air fem-castielnovak.
> 
> Oh man you guys had no idea how badly I wanted to make “hard” and “nut” jokes. Writing this was a trying experience from resisting that alone.  
> Also I’m still not over the fact that I got to write a literal clockmaker God
> 
> The Nutcracker is my favorite Christmas story and so writing this was something I really enjoyed doing.  
> I tried to include elements from the many different versions that are out there, with a real focus on the original story [The Nutcracker and The Mouse King](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Nutcracker_and_the_Mouse_King)  
> And I'd love to know what you thought.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading :)  
> Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to all of you!


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